The following was originally sent to recipients of my Sunday Letters.
As I approach the hill’s crest—I’m only two years shy of forty—I’m becoming increasingly low tech. I’d rather make a phone call than send a text message if I must carry a mobile device at all. I prefer hand-written letters over email, though I still consider email superior to Facebook, Twitter, or any other so-called “social” platform. I often use a digital Bible app, but its analog counterpart remains my favorite for quiet, devotional time. I traded my blog’s robust content management system for a static site, my versatile Gmail account for a secure, plain-text email provider, and my laptop for pen and paper when writing most first drafts.
I’m not sure I can explain why. I’m not sure anyone needs an explanation, including myself. I’m getting slower and more intentional as the years pass, and technology has a way of disrupting that trend. Even now, I wonder whether I should send this email. Will I disrupt your potential slowness and intentionality with one more notification? You’ve got mail. So, what? You also have more important things to do than read about my age-induced desire to live like it’s 1999.
That’s not a bad idea, you know. Delete this message. Put the tablet down, hide the remote control, and spend the evening with your family. Call your mom. Perhaps you can read a book. I’m currently enjoying Remember Death by Matthew McCullough. Maybe you’d prefer something on the lighter side. By all means, the choice is yours, but I think we’d all benefit from fewer pixels and more intentional living.
I could go on, but that seems counter-productive at this point.
Have a great week, friends. May the peace of Christ be with you.
P.S. I can’t remember the last time I was consistent with my Sunday emails or writing in general for that matter. I am trying, however, and maybe I’ll find a routine that sticks sooner than later. Then again, if the best parts of life get in the way—my wife and daughter, ministering to grieving families, my personal discipleship, the local church, sleep—so be it.