March 11, 2015
I learned something this week.
It was Saturday morning. Josh sat at the kitchen table, working on a guitar. The kids milled around and “helped.”
Josh turned to C, still in his jammies and fuzzy-headed like little boys are just after they wake and said, “Christian, go out the shop and get Daddy’s red-handled pliers.”
I’m not sure if I scolded him, but I wanted to. The child is two, for pete’s sake.
Expecting him to put his shoes on, open the back door, walk to the shed, open the shed door, rummage around in Josh’s tools until he found what he thought was pliers and before he got distracted by a saw or ax or something equally as dangerous and return to the house without some appendages missing was asking a bit much, in my humble opinion.
But C, up to the challenge and suddenly so obedient, found his shoes and (under my watchful eye) sauntered out to the shed like only he can saunter. Less than 30 seconds later he returned, the correct pliers in hand and all limbs intact.
This is the kid who still insists on pooping in his pants.
I was shocked.
Even two-year-olds have priorities.
I have learned something about myself too.
I say I want to know God more. I say I want to treasure Christ above all else. I say I want to look like Jesus to the world around me. I say (and type) a lot.
But does the way I spend my time reflect something else altogether? Let’s evaluate, shall we?
When I’m bored, I usually turn to Facebook. (Or candy, but that’s another blog post.)
When I’m anxious, I check my e-mail.
When I’m feeling lonesome, I might scroll through Instagram.
When I need to be filled with something, these are an easy go-to.
Then it hit me. The moments of my life I have spent on social media are quickly adding up. And what will their sum total be?
And so an experiment began.
John 12:42-43 tells us that there were leaders in Jesus’ day who believed in him. They knew that he was God walking among them. They shared his steps and shopped at the same markets and could wave across the street at him. They could talk to him. In person. They could sit at his feet and hear the wisdom firsthand that we study from ancient scrolls today.
The Word tells us that they would not confess their faith publicly “for they loved praise from men more than praise from God.”
They had the opportunity to be right there with Jesus. In the moment. With God. In the flesh. Physically present with the Almighty.
But they missed it.
They were distracted. They wasted their time caring about what someone else thought of them. Their priorities were badly skewed, and they ended up missing their chance to know Jesus.
What a terrible, terrible shame.
For a few weeks, I logged off all social media almost entirely. Except to, you know, post this blog. (Priorities, right?!?)
I determined that when I had few extra minutes in my day while I waited for the water to come to a boil or the kids were quiet and not underfoot (aka destroying something not in my immediate vicinity), I would turn to the Bible instead.
(Admittedly, it wasn’t an easy practice. And please don’t think I’m some super-Christian who never entertains herself or who doesn’t enjoy the occasional mindless scroll through status updates. I do. And there’s nothing wrong with staying connected through means like these.)
But when I come to the end of these days at home, or with my kids, or in this house or on this planet, will I wish that I had spent more time on Facebook?
Or will I wish that I had spent more time with Jesus?
Will I regret the unseen status updates or the untold blessings of knowing the Creator God?
When I look back, what will I see?
Was Jesus my highest aim?
Or did I miss knowing him while I walked this earth?
What a shame that would be.
I eventually did check Facebook. I spent 15 or so minutes scrolling through the posts I hadn’t seen during my time away. I turned it off.
You know what I realized?
I had missed nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Care to take up the challenge?
Replace your mindless moments on the computer (or in front of the TV or on the phone) with something you’ll never regret. I promise. You won’t.
Try it, and let me know what you think.
It’s all priorities, you know?
(‘Cause two-year-olds aren’t the only ones who get them out of order.)
Let’s not miss Jesus, friends.
What a shame that would be.
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