Back in the fall, I listened to John Mark Comer’s book The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry, and ever since I have been trying to press into a slower pace of life. This has had mixed results. Last week, I wrote about anger, and one of the things I’ve realized is that a lot of my anger gets triggered because I don’t have space or margin in my day. I am constantly consuming something—food, books, podcasts, television—and if I’m not actively consuming, then I am thinking about consuming.
I can’t speak for the generations that have come before me, but for all the millennials reading, we are a generation that cut our teeth on consumerism. More, more, more; the cheaper the better. Sustainability wasn’t a word we learned growing up. At least, not here in the South. It wasn’t modeled for us. And that wasn’t a failure of our parents—no one was aware of the scale of the problem. A snowball effect has occurred in our lifetime: a work ethic and culture that grew fat by focusing on maximized profits, by outsourcing cheaply-made products, by using emotional marketing to sell fast fashion, fast food, fast toys.
Our consumerism has certainly created a problem of stuff, and while I am concerned about that, it’s the digital vortex that currently affects me the most. The dawning of the digital age, the availability of streaming services, and the ease of creating and publishing content has created a something akin to digital kudzu in our lives. Wild vines grow at an alarming speed. At first glance, it looks beautiful: green as far as you can see. But it’s deadly: whole forests, whole ecosystems, have been destroyed by those terrible tendrils. There is literally unending content to consume in every facet of our lives, with more being created every minute. It’s no wonder why we are all so overwhelmed. We cannot possibly keep up.
I am currently reading through the Exodus narrative. God has just rescued His people from Egypt with signs and wonders, and now they are wandering in the wilderness. It’s only been a few days, but the Israelites already want to go back to Egypt because they are without food and water. I’m reading a translation and commentary by Everett Fox1, which compares this time of wandering in the wilderness to adolescence—the Israelites are a new nation, birthed through the Sea of Reeds, and now they must pass through the wilderness, that juvenile rebellion, before they can reach the promised land. Chapter 16 is where God first provides the Israelites with manna, and He instructs them to gather only what is needed for that day, with the exception of the sixth day, when they will take two portions for the Sabbath.
At first, the people don’t listen. They take too much, and I understand that sentiment, that feeling of not knowing when they’ll get more, but by the next day the manna they gathered had spoiled. Moses was furious, of course—God had just freed them from Egypt, surely He could be trusted to provide, right? There is so much to learn from this text, but what resonates with me this week is how God was leading His people into a slower way of life, a way of reliance and nourishment, and into a rhythm of rest. Certainly there are implications here for our physical lives, but there is wisdom for our digital spheres, too.
Recently, I listened to a storytelling workshop featuring Shannon K. Evans, author of Rewilding Motherhood. She was talking about the writing life, specifically how to find one’s story and voice. One thing she said that stuck with me was this idea that because time is so precious—because we are all moving through life at this frenetic pace, with all this content at our fingertips—to simply churn out more content is disrespectful to one’s audience. That gave me pause, both as a new content creator and as a consumer. She wasn’t advising against creating, but she was encouraging her listeners to find the sweet spot and press into it. To write, design, or create things of value over quota. I want to contribute to this creating, because this is part of my God-given identity as a co-creator and image bearer, but I also want what I contribute to be nourishing for you. And as a consumer, I think this is something we should all consider, this inventory-taking of what we digest, because what fills our time is what nourishes us, and I want to be fed by a diet that sustains me instead of depleting me.
Currently my Amazon Wishlist, which is made up entirely of books I want to read, is so long that I could never read every title. Still, I stay up late, after the kids are asleep, and I read feverishly, trying to cram as many books into my brain as I can. I wonder what it would look like to savor these books instead? What if I intentionally choose a dozen to read this year instead of trying to attack the whole list? I wonder if placing that limit would help me prune the kudzu a little, to say this is my focus, this is where I want to grow this year. I wonder what kind of space that mindset would free up? Would I be able to sit with those chosen books, to be filled by them, writing out quotes I love and letting them serve as jumping off points for my own writing and reflection? Would this give me space to create instead of merely consuming? That is my hope during this Lenten season.
Lent, which started Wednesday, forces us to reflect on our finiteness, our limited time on this earth. Toni Morrison put it this way: “We are already born. We are going to die. So you have to do something interesting that you respect in between.” I am hopeful for a shifting in this season, as signs of an early spring sprout and bloom all around me, for a refocus on the something interesting I am doing in my in between. To resist that raging river of consumption in favor of reflecting by a stream.
What about you, friends? I wonder what may need to be pruned in order to give more life to your days.
Jenica
Ordinary Joy
Words of Jubilee
“A Blessing for this Beautiful, Limited Day”
Blessed are we who see the impossibility
of solving today.
It can’t be done.
God, there are lists on lists
and errands on errands
and a taste, like tin in our mouths,
of the unfinishedness—the imperfectability—of our lives.
Are we counting items instead of knowing what counts?
God, help us live here,
seeing the whole truth of what is.
Blessed are we who walk toward the discomfort,
bringing what gifts we have, and our sufferings too,
whether of illness or loss,
grief or betrayal,
confusion or powerlessness.
Blessed are we who scoot up close
so we can whisper our loves, our fears,
all that feels too heavy to carry alone,
and all that we wish we could hold onto for longer.
Show us what we love.
Show us what we never want to lose.
And show us what we no longer need
here in this beautiful, limited day,
as we place our trust and hope in you.
Amen.-Kate Bowler
This week’s words of jubilee are from Kate Bowler, author of Good Enough and The Lives We Actually Have. Her blessings have been an encouragement to me, and she has created a free Lent devotional, which you can access here. It pairs with her new book, but it also works as a stand-alone guide. You can read more of her blessings on her Instagram profile.
A Few Good Things
This week I’ve enjoyed listening to this podcast, The Next Right Thing, by Emily P. Freeman.
I’m currently reading The Burning Word by Judith Kunst, which is an interesting exploration of the Jewish practice of midrash.
My kids love listening to the Spotify podcast Deep Blue Sea. It’s been really fun for us to enjoy together. It even inspired our sidewalk chalk mural!
If you’re the type to nerd out on things like that, Everett Fox’s translation is really cool. Instead of a literal translation or a thought-by-thought translation, his work attempts to capture the layers of Hebrew wordplay in English. As a writer and lover of words, the complexity and playfulness of the Hebrew is absolutely fascinating to me.