I started October thinking about hypotheticals, the ingredients of my everyday dream life and how technology fit or didn’t fit the vision. I’m ending the month thinking back on actuality, all the dreamy and dull and demanding experiences that made up my days. I took on the challenge of this series right before bailing the blog, bidding farewell to the big kids and hitting the road for a reprise on the honeymoon.
There was the throwing of laundry and pushing of buttons, a quick swish-swash and a token toss in the dryer before the heathered tee and other stray pieces of clothing, ready or not, had to join the bags in the car. Sometimes you need a view from above, to see a stretch of time as a tale from history instead of seeing life through a magnifying class, one snippet at a time through social media or the to-do list of the domestic life.
We stayed on the country curves until the last bar vanished from my phone, taking each turn on faith, waiting for the sight of a tiny village emerging out of dried corn and soybeans. We walked through a deluge into the warm sound of a honky tonk piano and upright bass and our friends calling from the table. It felt strange to be unreachable to anyone outside that latitude and longitude. We were captive, and captivated there at Story Inn. That’s when we heard the story of our friend climbing over and into the ruins of the place we’d just seen in its full glory.
All through the month, I kept seeing things through the filter of the technology question. While shopping for birthday presents, I looked up to see a Facebook friend face-to-face as she visited from the other side of the world. Her boy had grown at warp speed, at least it seemed that way from my vantage point through the portal of social media.
Later in the week as I prepped for the party, I searched Pinterest for the best caramel frosting recipe, but I also left the screen, got outside, looked at the natural resources in reach, fallen branches and salvaged walnut bark, and built a wigwam, a little remembrance of a bygone era, the frontier and my childhood both. At the party, kids ran around outside with feathers on their heads. They sat down with river rocks, striking them together waiting for a spark, and it sparked hope in me that the whole lot of them still had some imagination.
My best moments come with that kind of intention and initiative. Sometimes technology helps. My high school pen pal, Tristi, and I have been texting each other and cleaning house together even though we’re three hours away. A couple of weeks ago, connecting with her energized me to wrangle the laundry while she cleaned the garage as a surprise for her husband. That same week, after reading my friend Amber’s inspiring post online, I gave my son his first piano lesson and watched him play Ode to Joy with the right fingers, as if by magic.
My best moments come when I’m attentive and fully present, when I’m using props and telling stories with my daughter or listening to my son finish his first chapter book completely on his own, or when I pass along words of remembrance and get a family history in return.
Happiness comes in walks to school on crisp fall mornings, picking up sap-dotted pine cones, taking photos of fallen leaves like art on the sidewalk…and being aware enough not to get run over by the lady watching her smartphone screen instead of the stop sign.
My best moments come when I am approachable and adaptable, when I determine not to be the mom on the iPhone and instead leave myself open to meeting a new international friend, talking heart-to-heart for two hours while our kids play, and then use that very iPhone to keep up with each other via text before our next get together.
The good life peeks up when my husband and I go on an impromptu date on the last day of the local film festival and find ourselves sitting next to an acquaintance who also happens to be in the cast of the documentary we’ve come to see. He chats with us afterward, giving us whole new layer of connection with the experience on screen.
That is technology at its best, when it works with our lives, providing more opportunities for connection without distancing or blocking us from those that are already there, something like the happy hybrid. I don’t plan on throwing out my phone or tablet or computer, but I do want to be wise in the way I use them and be willing to give them up if they should ever claim a right to the worship I reserve for the one and only God or the attention and devotion meant only for those made in His image. I want to know “the fullness, pleasure, sheer excitement of knowing God on earth.” For me, that means doing my best to live less distracted, less digital.
{I’m linking up with Nester for her annual 31 Days blog get together. Don’t want to miss this series? Be sure to subscribe by entering your email in the box on the homepage sidebar. Find all posts in the series here.}