You love your phone.
You hate your phone.
I love and hate your phone too.
You love that you can call me anytime of the day and reach me wherever I am. I love that too.
You hate that I can call you anytime of the day and reach you wherever you are. You love it too.
Our conversations sometimes start with, “Where are you?”
I am here.
Where are you?
We relate to a table scene author Rob Bell describes in his book, How to Be Here, “…if that phone rings and that screen lights up, she will be with you, but not be with you. Here but not here.”
We know we are important to the people sitting across the table from us when our phones are in hiding. They have their time and place, but this is not it.
Remember the days when phones, tablets and screens were not a part of our everyday existence?
The irony is not lost on me that I am writing this post on a computer that is a marvel of modern engineering. I’ll send it off on the information superhighway. It’s wonderful!
We love technology. We hate it too. We struggle to find a balance between digital and analog.
We don’t want to lose sight of the joy of looking across the table or the sofa at a living person, created in God’s image, with nothing distracting us from each other. Attention is a gift we give to those that matter.
There is something special about picking up a pen to write on a real piece of paper rather than pixelated paper on a hard glass screen.
There is old school magic in picking up an actual book, holding it in your hands and reading complete lines of sentences rather than pinballing across a screen at random.
You are here. Present.
And we see you.
We love it when you are here.