I do about 50 million loads of laundry every week. I’m pretty sure my family’s clothes are miraculously multiplying in the hamper like so many loaves and fishes, but I digress. One particular Saturday afternoon - the Saturday before Palm Sunday to be exact - I pulled my 40 thousandth load that day out of the dryer and stuffed it into a laundry bag to be folded.
As I put the clothes in the bag, I tossed my phone in there too and took it all upstairs. While I was doing this, my bladder had been rapidly filling up thanks to the gigantic glass of water I’d recently guzzled. By the time I got to the top of the stairs, I had to pee pretty badly. At that point, it would have made a lot of sense to just put the bag down and go to the bathroom. But I wanted to find my phone first, because apparently one minute was too long to be apart from it.
So there I was, dancing around with my knees pinned together like an idiot until I was finally able to locate the precious rectangle hiding under a pile of socks and shirts, and then booked it to the bathroom.
That’s when it dawned on me. I might be addicted to this thing.
This phone.
Always the first thing I reach for.
When I wake up, when I go to sleep, when I’m bored, when I’m lonely, when I’m lazy, when I’m busy, when I’m tired, when I’m not tired, when I’m waiting, when I’m stalling, when…
Quarantine really was no help for a lot of us when it came to controlling screen time. I believe that it was during those first few months of the pandemic that my screen time skyrocketed and morphed into a borderline addiction. I’m not making excuses, I’m just recognizing when it happened. I’m naming it and releasing it here. Maybe “addiction,” sounds like too strong of a word, but it can be defined as simply as, “a strong inclination to do, use, or indulge in something repeatedly,” (Merriam-Webster).
The boredom of being stuck at home for months with only a phone to connect me to the outside world, plus constant access to my ridiculously entertaining Nintendo Switch (Animal Crossing anyone?) made it so that I almost always had a screen in my hands.
It was the perfect recipe for a bad habit.
It’s frustrating to think about, because God has done so much work on my life in this last year… All this time that God had been working on me, speaking to me and showing me things about myself that needed to grow… all of this years’ sanctification and victory… all the while, I was still finding ways to be overtly human, full of vices and weakness.
Being a person is hard.
So here’s the story of God breaking me free. Again.
Palm Sunday:
I went for a drive alone as the sun was setting just to be alone and recharge (I’m an introvert and you’ll discover this as you read).
I pulled into a parking lot and began to reach for my phone.
But in that moment, something happened. As I started to open Instagram - a total knee-jerk reflex - I suddenly felt distinctly that the Lord was speaking. He told me to put the phone back into my purse. So I did. And then I just sat there. I sat in silence… for kind of a long time. God spoke again. “I want you to stop using all of your screens for Holy Week (the entire week leading up to Easter). Focus your attention on what I’ve done for you in sending my Son into this world.”
Wow and yikes and wow.
So that’s what I did. I immediately deleted the Instagram app off of my phone. I went home and put my Nintendo Switch in a place that was hard to get to… (later that week, I would ask my husband to take it out of the house entirely because I wanted to play it so bad. *Cue me rolling my eyes at myself.*)
I took a mental inventory of all of my most used apps, gadgets and time-sucks and got rid of all of them. Holy Week had begun.
It was a beautiful Sunday and I was excited.
Monday: I was no longer excited.
I had gotten into the habit of looking at Instagram and sometimes the news first thing in the morning. It felt strange not to. It was like I taught my brain, “this is how we wake up.” The lack of stimulation was jarring.
As the day wore on, I developed a headache. I felt fidgety with nothing to tap on, nothing to swipe, nothing to hold in my hands. Those fidgets left me feeling a little anxious and restless. It was weird.
It just so happened to be spring break, so I had an above average amount of free time on my hands, but my husband had an above average amount of work to do at church, so this was an annoying start to the week. With nothing else to do, I spent the better part of the afternoon reorganizing my kid’s tornado of a closet and cleaning out junk drawers just to keep myself busy.
That night, instead of watching a show, I prayed myself to sleep.
***
Harvard University put out a study showing how social media in particular is intentionally created to be addictive by providing the user with a regular, strategically timed supply of dopamine hits to the brain. “Facebook, Snapchat, and Instagram leverage the very same neural circuitry used by slot machines and cocaine to keep us using their products as much as possible.” -harvard.edu
In this article, I also learned that Instagram actually withholds likes and then releases them in clumps so that the user will check it more often - first experiencing disappointment followed by a dopamine “reward” in the brain that keeps them coming back for more. This is sometimes referred to as “brain hacking.” I was rather furious to learn this, realizing that I’ve been getting played.
These dopamine hits create pathways in the brain that we grow accustomed to and we can become less capable of dealing with stillness. One way I’ve heard it put is that “we’re training and conditioning a whole new generation of people that when we are uncomfortable or lonely or uncertain or afraid, we have a digital pacifier for ourselves...” -Tristan Harris, The Social Dilemma
Tuesday:
Once I got past the first day, I was mostly just bored, honestly. The withdrawals began to wane, but I realized that I’d lost the art of being still. Silence felt foreign. I was trying to remember what I used to do before smartphones.
In my search for a relaxing pastime, I pulled out an old deck of playing cards and began to shuffle them. My mom and grandma taught me how to play cards when I was a kid. They taught me how to shuffle and how to do that fancy move where you bend them back into a neat little pile in one swift motion. They taught me a how to play several versions of solitaire and a bunch of other games I don’t remember now. But I remember solitaire. I’m an only child, so that game came in really handy over the years.
As I felt the cards flutter in my hands and dealt them out to play that old familiar game, I was immediately transported back to my grandmothers’ kitchen. She died in 2004, but my mind took me there as though it were yesterday: the smell of hot tap water and dish soap, the half empty cup of decaf sitting cold in the microwave because she would heat it up and forget it was there, the sugar free cookies that tasted like chemicals and cardboard, the deep and abiding love and tension that dwelt so consistently between her and my mom… I remembered all of it. I would sit at that little table in her kitchen, my mom and grandma laughing and shuffling and dealing the next game, and I would feel safe.
My memory burned bright and clear. All at once, I was overcome with warm affection for these tough, resilient women I came from. My mother: irrepressible and good humored. My grandmother: pleased to walk away from her past and never look back. And for the first time in over a decade, I teared up thinking of my grandmother who left this world so long ago. That cold decaf drinking, card playing, leather-handed, secret smoker who couldn’t help but cry when she was telling us that she loved us… she was fresh in my mind for the first time in years.
My midnight game of solitaire became a ceremony to her and the memories I’d left behind.
These are the moments we miss. These are the legacies we forfeit when we fill the silence, reject the boredom, and stuff our minds full with the constant barrage of nothingness that our screens consistently feed us. Those moments are fragile and fleeting. We miss them and then they're gone forever.
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday:
Over the course of the week, my habits and behaviors began to shift. I was making better eye contact with my children (this one hurts to say, because it admits a lack thereof leading up to this week). I played with them more. I felt time passing in a different way and soaked in the sparkle of who they are with more intentionality. My four year old son seemed to take notice and was making me “bouquets” from leaves he found outside, making me presents out of legos and giving me extra hugs. He seemed especially connected with me. Again, it hurts.
I became more prayerful. Every pang and pull I felt toward my phone, TV, or game console, I would pour into petition before God.
I also took practical steps to regain control over my time. I bought a phone mount that I attached to the fridge and that’s where I keep my phone to this day. I no longer carry it around the house in my pocket or keep it right next to me; it’s too easy to pick up and look at when it’s right there… Though, I can’t tell you how archaic it felt the first time I heard my phone ring from another room and I had to get up from where I was sitting to walk over to answer it!
During the middle of the week, in true elderly fashion, I checked out a bunch of books from the library and bought myself a book light. I was able to get though several books in a fairly short amount of time. (Mind you, it was spring break, my husband had a lot to do at work, and I had a lot more free time than usual! I guess I have a knack for timing things to be as difficult as possible.) Anyway, I didn’t want the temptation to look at my phone at bedtime or first thing in the morning, so I also bought an analogue alarm clock and started charging my phone in the bathroom at night instead of on my nightstand.
Truthfully, at first I was taking these steps out of obedience. As much as I was enjoying the mental break from scrolling, I was still coming down off of an addictive behavior that I was - through the power of the Holy Spirit - doing everything I could to shake. God was fundamentally changing something about me, and I could, at times, still feel the pain of it.
Good Friday:
“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” -John 8:36
Something was happening. Instead of a phone, show or game, I started to crave the feeling of an actual book in my hand. The soft crinkle of a page turning in my bible and the silk worn leather of its’ cover. The feeling of my dark blue pen gliding smoothly across the light blue lines in my journal. The smell of ink on paper. The slightly dusty pages of an old library book that had passed through so many hands before reaching my own. My desires began to redefine themselves. I could feel myself being set free.
Easter Weekend:
I knew that once the weekend was over, I technically had the option to start using more technology again, but by this point, I didn’t really want to. Rest and entertainment felt more fulfilling without it. Sure, I’d use it for work, school, and to connect with friends, etc; but to be sedated by mindless scrolling and button mashing didn’t carry the same appeal that it once did.
While the death of Jesus on the cross frees us from eternal separation from Him, His resurrection is powerful because it gives us freedom in THIS life. This doesn’t mean life will be any easier for the one who follows Him, in fact, it can sometimes be much harder. But, we no longer have to be bound to the things that pull us away from Him - and therefore away from experiencing true joy and hope.
Now:
I’ve learned over and over throughout the years that technology has seasons where it becomes an idol for me - a false god, robbing me of quality sleep, peace of mind, precious free time and attention that is better deserved elsewhere. That’s the thing about false gods: they only take from us and never give anything that lasts longer than an instant. Even if we’re using our phones as a crutch to drown out our anxieties, bad memories or any other ill, they can’t really rescue us. They don’t heal anyone.
Social media in particular is interesting in that it has the power to connect us but it has just as much power (if not more) to divide us. I didn’t realize that by taking a break from Instagram, I was also taking a break from political division. I was taking a break from becoming irritated with people I love because I silently disagree with them. I was taking a break from jealousy over the success of other people’s thriving careers. I was taking a break from the soul crushing experience that is reading an angry comment thread on a controversial post. I had no FOMO whatsoever, and I wager that the real FOMO should be in regard to what I’m missing that’s right in front of me when I’m allowing myself to by hypnotized into an insatiable appetite for the endless scroll.
God help me, I don’t want to miss anymore moments. I don’t want to re-chain myself to that phone. That cursed black brick. That thief of time. I can’t do it. Not anymore.
Does this mean you’ll never see me again on social media or that I’m quitting video games forever? No. Smartphones have become an essential part of modern life. Social media is a valuable tool for connection and ministry when harnessed properly. Video games are fun. But it does meant that I NEED LIMITS.
I once read a tweet from Village Church pastor, Matt Chandler, in response to a large number of people asking him to tweet more because he has so much wisdom. His reply? “I’ll do my best; too much twitter is not good for my soul.” I think that’s the key, isn’t it? We can try to add good to these platforms, and we can try to be productive for a bigger cause, but no matter how much good we want to do, too much of it is not good for our souls.
I love the way the Apostle Paul puts it in his letter to the Corinthians:
“Everything is permissible for me, but not all things are beneficial. Everything is permissible for me, but I will not be enslaved by anything [and brought under its power, allowing it to control me].” -1 Corinthians 6:12, Amplified Bible
We can’t let technology or any other thing - good or bad - enslave us. When we do that, we lose. I know this from experience.
Being ruled by our vices flies in the face of Christ’s offer of freedom. It rejects that gift and embraces bondage. Our false gods will always betray us. Our time, talent and resources will always be best spent when surrendered and yielded to the kind and generous love of Christ. “I will give you rest,” He says (Matthew 11:28). We need only to lean into it.
I’ll leave you with this thought that, ironically, I saw on social media. It rang in my ears until I finally surrendered and put my phone down:
“What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” -Mary Oliver
Thanks for reading. Now put away whatever device was used to read this and go live.
-Jen
