Don’t you agree that life has become incredibly complicated? This is, in a way, what Christ is referring to when, in the Book of John, he says to Matthew (who had just laid down cloth doilies while setting the table), "Keep it simple, stupid." Wasn’t Christ, in effect, telling all of us, "Keep it simple, stupid?" Yes. I think he was.

I unexpectedly learned to appreciate something about my old piano: you don’t have to plug it in. There’s no way for it to become infected with a virus, run out of gas, blow a fuse, or suddenly turn off when the power goes out. There’s no remote control to lose, no printer to get jammed, no engine to flood, and no cables to plug into "Port A." There’s nothing to overheat, there’s nowhere to "insert Disk A," and there are no channels to surf.

Scientists have proven that those who sit in front of a computer day after day will, eventually, adopt the personality of a filing cabinet. And it would have happened to me, had I not discovered gardening. I attempted my first real garden while living in the Pike National Forest in Colorado, but because the entire growing season in the Rocky Mountains lasts only four hours, I just went ahead and sprinkled the seeds on a peanut butter sandwich. But in Kansas, as long as Mother Nature is in a good mood, gardens thrive. Computers suck the life out of you, and a few hours in the garden breathes it back in.

I once tried to paint a friend’s portrait, only to have it look like the La Brea Tar Pit. The problem was, except for her chin, this person looked almost nothing like the La Brea Tar Pit. Should I wallow in the fact that I’m not a great painter? Should I worry that my paintings have the same affect on people as six combination platters? I don’t think so. The simplicity of placing color to canvas, and knowing that there is no "edit, undo," is refreshing and therapeutic, regardless if my "Old Man Reading" looks like lasagna.

What stirred my sudden appreciation for the simpler things in life? A few weeks ago my computer was attacked by a vicious virus. (A few days later I caught the same virus and now I shut down whenever I’m given a command.) When I called the company about getting my computer fixed, I was told I had to contact the original manufacturer. After speaking to one person after another, I was finally connected to a tiny village in Thailand where, through an interpreter and after endless hours of discussion, I was eventually told to "turn it off and on again, and see what happens."

That seemed to do the trick – except that now my CD drive, printer and scanner won’t work. And I’m pretty sure it was somehow related to my overcooking pork chops last night.

After some contemplation (not too much, as it can cause chafing), I also have come to realize that life often becomes complicated after human beings are replaced by automation. Have you tried the self-checkout at the grocery store? I should have known something was amiss when I paid $753 for a greeting card. I thank God for the farmer’s market. I’m getting to the point where I’d rather deal with someone who keeps their cash in a tin can.

While working in Colorado, I once watched as nearly a dozen coworkers were replaced by an automated system. I was secretly cheering when nearly every day the machine broke down and one of the suits would be out there with a wrench and a greasy rag looking red-faced and puzzled.

Sometimes I can’t help but think that God is looking down at us, shaking his head and saying, "Oh, maaaaan!" (pun intended), because so many of life’s complications are based on greed -- getting more for less.

Life becomes this gigantic puzzle created by a powerful few who’ve decided that life needs to offer them just a little bit extra.

The simplest message in the world was given us hundreds of years ago: "Love each other."

Now that I think about it, we could all do with a little gardening.