In which I make a pitcher pitch pitch.
Titus 2:11–12 talks about the grace of God appearing. Then what does the grace of God do? It trains us to live soberly and righteously and Godly in the present age. I am reading Titus and this nuance caught me. We may think the grace of God works by means of comforting us, supplying us, forgiving us, etc. But in this verse, it’s training us walk worthily of God. So grace is not a matter of works, but grace trains us, and the result is a living that expresses God.
OK, real quick now, somebody explain to me why full time paid engineers at Brita haven’t made the same cognitive leap that I made over breakfast. Why does the industry standard for pitchers necessitate a wait time of at least 30 seconds after filling the reservoir with water? The bottom sketch proposes a design that faithfully preserves the reservoir and filtered water volumes, decreases plastic used in production, and most importantly, gets that initial non-leaky wait time to maybe 15 seconds. (I made those stats up. Don’t get mad at me, real engineers.)
I guess the easy answer is that for the client with the average patience level, such innovation is unnecessary. But I’m the kind of person who decides that food is “hot enough” when ten or so seconds remain on the microwave. So I demand better, so that *I* don’t have to be better.
Alternative solution, also for the patient: constantly maintain a state of almost maximum filtered water capacity in one’s pitcher, which decreases the pour angle and therefore increases maximum volume of pre-filtered water before leakage occurs from the cap. I didn’t draw a helpful diagram for this. I’m hoping you can picture that pitcher pitch.
For the newcomers: every so often I like to lob my highly lucrative ideas at the blagoblag so that some entrepreneurial soul can profit. So this has been my pitcher pitch pitch. With picture.
Half of the year, I keep my window wide open. Sure, it’s loud with the train close by and sometimes with the staggering patrons of the bar across the street, but it’s worth it to wake up to a room flooded with light and a gentle breeze. It’s only closed, like some beaches, from November to April. This morning, I looked out and saw that overnight, mysteriously, the little green nibs that our maple tree has been collecting had unfurled into proud leaves. It’s mysterious. Even though the change was taking place slowly and steadily this whole time, the actual manifestation of the leaves just took one overnight rain.
A short post, this time. I have a week before we officially move out. All my belongings, more or less, are in boxes. Selling bikes. I have two weeks before Boston-Paris-Madagascar-South Africa. Who will water the professors sprout? Research supplies are flying across the country to me. Research protocols are being amended and polished. Skype calls on skype calls. Statistics discussed. Budgets made and loosely held. Breathe breathe breathe. Will this work? Will this matter?
I can’t wait to just get on the plane and let the first domino of the many that I’ve lined up over the last 6 months tip. And all the while, in my head, the constant refrain: the world has its work and rewards / I count them but folly and loss. / My business is only His work. / My message is only His cross.
