In this pandemic, we’re social distancing for our safety. But for our mental and spiritual health, perhaps we should also consider “information distancing.” Hear these reflections from Andi Ashworth:
I’ve been thinking a lot about habits and how my daily rhythms steer the direction of my heart. This is true all the time, but there are particular things I’m aware of right now. The use of my smartphone is one of them.
I’m working to break the habit of checking social media and news off and on all day. I have a genuine need to know the latest developments, as well as stay connected with people during various stages of quarantine. In Nashville we are in a modified version of phase 2. But there is a direct correlation between my scrolling habits and whether I have any peace, hope, or generosity of spirit. On the days I pick up my phone first thing in the morning and go immediately to email, Facebook, Instagram, or a news article, I’m in trouble. Hope is already gone before I even I hit the coffee pot. I start the day depressed and overwhelmed by the news headlines, or boiling with anger at a mean-spirited post on Facebook that speaks of people’s suffering as “fake news.” I’m completely bewildered by the twisting of reality. But social media commentary and wider news stories are not something to take on straight out of bed.
I’m 64 years old and still figuring this out! I tell myself, “Leave the phone alone, Andi. Make the coffee, go to your chair, read the scriptures and pray. And then receive the day as God’s gift.” It’s the right order of things.
I believe in the wisdom of reading the news with one hand and the Bible with the other. “Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful,” requires attentiveness. But there’s a difference between my mindless scrolling habits and paying careful attention. So I’m working to create some boundaries, to figure out the best times in each day to read thoughtful, in-depth news articles, listen to NPR, or watch trusted news sources on television. I’m reorienting myself to check social media once a day or give it a break completely. It helps to rein it all in.
I don’t want to be angry and anxious all the time. I don’t want to lash out online or in person. I want my conversation to be full of grace, but it’s so often not. There’s a right and righteous anger that leads me to God and good action, and there’s a ranting kind of anger that recycles over and over with nowhere to land.
As I read the Old and New Testaments my soul is filled with truth, perspective, and words to pray. “The LORD is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble…he does not ignore the cries of the afflicted…Arise LORD! Lift up your hand, O God…Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” As things feel like they’re spinning out of control, I can remember where to put my trust, I can cry out to God about the suffering of the world. I can be still and know that he is God. And I can be thankful.
Gratitude is medicinal.
As quarantine continues, what I’m missing most is the up-close experience of family—hugging and kissing my kids and grandkids, sharing meals around a common table. The ache grows more intense each week. But rather than focusing too much on what is absent, I’m trying to remember what’s been provided: the sweet companionship of my husband, a blooming garden, the blessing of long Zoom conversations with my oldest friends, and the fact that we can see our family outdoors.
If I start on a trail of thanksgiving I can go for miles.
Andi Ashworth is cofounder of ArtHouse America and author of Real Love for Real Life: The Art and Work of Caring and shares a blog The Writer & The Husband with her husband, Charlie Peacock, Grammy-award winning musician and producer.