There are lovely passages scattered throughout the apostle Paul’s letters about living a Christian life.
You know the type, and I quote them fairly often here …
“The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.”
“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable — if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things.”
And, of course, “clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.”
People often talk about Christians living boring lives, since they’re instructed to live like fuddy-duddies (or whatever the more modern word is for a life where you don’t get to do anything “fun”).
The truth is when you turn your life over to Christ, you tend to give up the “fun” stuff not because you’re being coerced, but because it doesn’t interest you anymore. When you’re overwhelmed with love, joy, peace and all those other fruitful things, there’s precious little time for what more worldly types might call “fun.”
I was driving myself crazy again on Wednesday morning. As I do most days, I sat down with a paper journal and my favorite pen and started thinking on the page. I was unhappy with myself for spending too much time checking my “smart” phone and for having trouble coaxing my creative nature into writing stories — two ongoing challenges that have driven myself crazy over and over through the years.
I’ll let you listen in while I brainstormed solutions, because something magical suddenly happened.
“I have reduced my hours staring at the phone, but the laptop remains a source of distraction. If I could afford it — and if I believed I could maintain the discipline — I would buy a computer whose sole purpose would be as a writing instrument. When I opened the writing computer, it would be “word playtime” — period. Kind of like when I sit down with this journal … Hmmm …
“Maybe … Maybe I’m doing this all wrong. The Scarlet Letter and Moby Dick and Great Expectations were all written before typewriter keyboards — by hand — on paper — What if I were to write by hand — transfer the finished story to computer to clean it up?
“Part of me screams, ‘Stop talking about the process and just start writing, you fool, you cursed fool.”
And that’s when something magical happened.
I started writing a story. I filled five and a half pages of my journal with a brand new story. I listened to the part of me that was screaming, “Stop talking about the process and just start writing, you fool.” And what do you know? It was a great idea.
The story is not ready for prime time. It’s not finished by any stretch of the imagination. But when I stopped fretting about writing and just began to write, what do you know? I wrote.
I hope I can give this advice without infringing Nike’s trademark:
Sunday morning was blessed. I could scarcely believe the difference.
I had been scaring myself lately when I checked at the end of the day to see how much time I had spent looking at my “smart” phone. Alarmingly, I had one day last week with more than six hours staring at the thing and another day with more than four hours.
Clearly I needed to fix the hole where the rain gets in and keeps my mind a-wandering where it will go. I started seeing the ways I was letting my “smart” phone control me, such as counting my steps in the ongoing effort to get my weight down to a more manageable level. I would feel bereft if I went for a walk and forgot the device, because I wouldn’t get “credit” for the steps. It occurred to me that in my younger days I had measured my progress by counting the number of laps I ran at a YMCA track that was 1/24th of a mile around. We were able to measure progress in the dark ages before “smart” phones were born.
I have decided to start putting quotes around the word “smart” phone, because it really is a device that does the opposite of making us smart. We are made stupid, anxious and angry when we pick that thing up and stare all day at that tiny television screen, the fount of knowledge that separates us from reality.
“Look up from the screen and see what’s happening, w.p.,” I said to myself. “Smell a rose. Write a poem. Get back in touch with who you are.”
Looking in from the outside, I saw a sedentary lump who stares at screens, big and little, for up to 10 of the precious 16 hours I am given each day. Time, time, time, see what’s become of me; I should be looking around for my possibilities. No — rather, I should start seizing the opportunities every day offers me.
I cried out for help: “Lord, I am addicted to the electronic light, help me start to use the electronics as a tool, not my master. After all, I only pick up my hammer when I need to hammer something, not all the time randomly all day. Let me pick up my writing tools when I need to write, not to see if I got any more Likes or wondering what might be on TV tonight because I don’t feel like working again.”
And so, Sunday morning I left the laptop and the phone in the charger during all the time before I left for church, and surprise! I gave myself extra time to practice for the service (I play guitar in the worship team), vacuum the dogs’ play area, and water the tomato plants, in addition to getting dressed.
With the screens kept off, I was able to be more intentional with the day. The real test is coming as I type this — turning on my tools only to do the work, will I be able to maintain self-control and stare at the screen only long enough to to maintain my website, do the routine clerical work for my part-time job, and work on my next books?
I liked this morning and this version of myself. I honestly felt more in touch with myself than usual, more attentive to the people and happenings around me. I hope and I pray that I end up liking the day. Will Aug. 2, 2026, turn out to be the day that the real w.p. bluhm finally came home to stay?
