I decided to remove the social media apps from my phone for the Lenten season this year. Ask me how many times I’ve put them back on since Ash Wednesday?
More than that.
I ran across this verse in my daily reading the other day and it hit home. That craving for red dots, hearts and likes and comments is real.
Probably like most of you I use social media and I recognize the dangers of it. One of the dangers I see is the strong craving social media creates in me for validation.
We need each other. We’re social beings, even introverts like me. We need communication from other humans to help us be healthier humans. But humans alone cannot fill the insatiable appetite we have for meaning.
There’s this question I’m constantly carrying around, like a growling empty stomach: Is what I’m saying or doing making any good difference?
I want to know that what I say and do matters. That it’s helping someone. That is making life better. And as a Christian, I want to know that I’m honoring Christ and helping others know and love Him.
Those notifications on my phone from what I write in articles or poems or blogs or social media posts is a sort of food that satisfies that craving to make a difference. But it’s satisfaction is short lived and addictive.
Social media likes are white sugar to my craving.
But the word of God, the truth of Christ, the wisdom of the Holy Spirt is a full feast to my soul.
When I check those notifications and feel the spike of sweet followed by the growling craving and keep checking this glass rectangle in my pocket my riff-raffness shows.
But in seasons like this when my soul puts aside the sugar, acknowledging how addicted this riff-raff lady is, and sits with the strange growls in my soul before God, I inevitably find him fulfilling.
Just one look up. One pause to listen. To remember. To hunger. To breathe. To let tears run. To let laughter come too. To remember Jesus.
Here we fast. We crave. We hunger. We taste just a morsel and drink just a sip. For now.
One day this redeemed riff-raff will sit at the table and feast.