At present, when I wake up one morning and my iPhone has a magically darkened screen, leaving me almost unable to read a thing, I
leave it that way for a couple days because I have no idea what the heck has
happened or how to fix it. I feel something akin to a rush of victory when I
successfully download an album from iTunes, feeling as though I’ve just done
something youthful and even, dare I say, techie. A couple months ago my husband downloaded a newer version of Microsoft Word and I still, weeks
later, feel paralyzed when I use it because all the little icons at the top
have switched spots and even changed graphics and I’m fearful to click. (I know,
I know. Playing around is the only way to figure it out and abandon my fear.
Truthfully, navigating my way through a raging blizzard sounds a bit more fun
to me than navigating my way through a new computer program.) As I sit here and
type, an anti-virus warning has popped up (twice, actually) and I’ve clicked on
“remind me later” because I’m hesitant to either accept it or fully dismiss it;
either option could ruin the computer, I reckon, so it seems wise to just
indefinitely click “remind me later,” right? Recently, when I tried to visit
one of the blogs I frequently read and a message informed me that “this site is
temporarily down for maintenance,” I believed that there were thousands of
adorable, microscopically small elves dressed in custodian apparel, feverishly at work inside the hard drive, sweeping and
dusting all the tiny wires.
OK, so that last example was obviously untrue, and an attempt to
make light of my own technophobe stupidity. But every other example is commonplace,
surrounded by dozens more, and, I know from talking with others like me, not a
unique response.
The element of all this that brings unease is not that I
will need to navigate my way through an increasingly technological world for
possibly the next fifty years, but that I need to raise my three young children
to navigate their way through this world as well. I don’t feel equipped to do
this. I’m not too worried about the techie side of things—in all likelihood my
kids will be walking ME through the tech side of stuff before long. But I feel
ill-equipped to walk them through a childhood and adolescence that is
increasingly different from my own.
Technological gadgets already have such a strong, almost
hypnotic allure for all three of my children. A couple nights ago I was at IKEA
with my little ones and as we traveled in the elevator, 3-year-old Joshua saw
an iPhone resting in the hand of a complete stranger. Almost as though in a
trance, he looked up at this big, burly man and said “Can I please play with
your phone?” The man chuckled and politely responded, “Sorry, buddy. I’m
actually getting off in a second.”
This past weekend we had some dear friends come to dinner
and at one point, as we sat around our kitchen table, 4-year-old Jake started
regaling our guests with tales of the various unsuitable X-Factor clips that
he’s watched on YouTube. Quite animatedly, he described how this one hopeful
star pulled down his pants in front of the judges to prove to them that he had
the names of six girls tattooed on his rear. “It was so funny!” Jake concluded
with a laugh and a contented sigh. My friends were trying to stifle their
laughter while I was trying to mask my horror. You see, we don’t have cable,
rarely watch television, and the kids are only allowed to play with any type of
‘screen’ on the weekend. It’s not like there are no boundaries in place
whatsoever. Curious as to when he had
seen this and how he happened to have such a detailed account of the scenario, I asked, “Have you
watched this more than once, Jake?” His response: “Yup. Tons of times, Mom. On
your iPhone.” It was a moment where I was thankful for gracious,
non-judgmental friends.
My instinct in all this is to wish I could stick my head in
the sand, not let my kids have cell phones until after they’re married, and
forbid Facebook accounts until they have children of their own. But that’s not
the right instinct. Definitely clear boundaries along with a thoughtful,
biblical approach to their use of technology is good; simply saying “NO!” is
probably not so good. But in either case, as a parent of young children, the
pulse of my heart quickens because I see clearly the ways that I’ve already
failed, and I wonder if I will be equipped in the months and years to come.
Will I be equipped to properly establish both time and content boundaries for
my children? Will I be equipped to teach them how to use technology for good? Will
I be equipped to teach my children, when they’re older, how to use social media
for the good of others and to the glory of God when I barely have a grip on how
to do that myself? Will I be equipped to teach them why they must wait until
they’re older to have some of the devices that I know their friends will have
at a much younger age? Will I be equipped to cultivate hearts that seek to love
and serve others in a world where how well they are ‘liked’ will literally, at
times, become measured in numbers and notifications?
And then, maybe most of all, will they look to me and see a
woman, a mother, who uses technology for good? Will I be equipped to
consistently live out those philosophies that I attempt to teach? If my
children, one day years from now, scroll through my Facebook page from 2008
until the present, will they see the words of a mature woman whose speech has
been seasoned with grace, whose desire has been to love God with all my heart and
soul and mind and strength, and then love the person beside me as I love
myself? My heart settles, just a little, as I remember that we've been given a standard of loving and living that transcends time and technology; everything in life can be filtered through that grid, really.
The fear of technology is a light one, and is something that
I know could theoretically be overcome with an open mind and a greater willingness to
learn. The fear that rests weightier is that I’ll fail to teach my precious
children how to use the technology that is already at their little fingertips,
that is already the desire of their little hearts.
