by Nancy Sleeth
My response: don’t buy it. Don’t buy into the necessity of fitting in. Don’t buy into the social pressure. No eight-year-old is (or should be) able to walk to the store by himself and plunk down a hundred bucks for a video game. Parents do have a say. In the long run, as with so many other parental decisions, thoughtfully answering “no” can be the most loving gift we can offer. We can give our children a chance to drink deeply of life instead of always settling for shallow pleasures.
How to begin? First and foremost, set an example. Keep games out of the home. If and when they are used, limit them to thirty minutes or less per day. Avoid them completely on the Sabbath. And carefully monitor their content—even if you don’t believe in a connection between virtual violence and the real thing, blowing up people for entertainment is the inverse of the “pure, and lovely, and admirable” that the apostle Paul said we should seek. Instead, substitute activities that are “excellent and worthy of praise,” such as spending time outdoors enjoying God’s creation. (See Philippians 4:8 for more entertainment guidelines.)
Except for a few games that came preloaded on our computer, Matthew and I have never purchased a video game or game console. The same goes for our children. What did they do instead of playing video games or watching TV? On rainy days they used wooden block sets to build cathedrals with working catapults and trapdoors; created obstacle courses out of dominoes lined up end to end; wrote books and illustrated them; developed scripts, made costumes, and put on plays. On sunny days, they climbed trees, built forts, traipsed along creek beds, explored salt marshes, gathered sea glass, and dug for buried treasure. In below-freezing temperatures, we had to call them in from building snow tunnels with the neighborhood kids. They often got so busy playing outdoors they would forget to come home to eat. And books—well, let’s just say that Beth, the children’s librarian, was one of our dearest friends. She enthusiastically recommended old classics and saved new books just for my children, always willing to discuss in great detail their evolving literary tastes. “I’m bored” was never a complaint as long as there were good books to read, a sketch pad and drawing pencil, or a tree to climb. It is possible to raise kids in twenty-first-century America without Xbox, PlayStation, or Wii. We can live in the world without conforming to its ways—and enjoy ourselves in the process.
Reduce incoming e-mail
Winston Churchill is a family hero of ours. At the dinner table, Clark does a pretty good imitation of the great orator. One of my favorite Churchill quotations is, “I am all for your using machines, but do not let them use you.”
If there is one area where I am at the mercy of machines, it is e-mail. Because I rarely use the phone and do not text message, nearly all my work communications are done via e-mail. My justification: e-mail keeps my life quieter. Without it, our phone would be ringing constantly. But too much of even a good thing can be bad.
A couple of years ago, I accidentally discovered that I had 7,856 e-mails in my in-box. When I confessed my e-mail problem to a friend, she said it was the most over-filled mailbox she had ever heard of. “I know a couple of people who have a thousand or even two thousand e-mails, but this is crazy. Your in-box is officially out of control.”
I have since changed over to an e-mail system with better search capabilities. But I have also taken some defensive actions. First, I unsubscribed from every group list that I can live without—which is almost all of them. This took some time and continues to require ongoing vigilance, but the payoff is huge—it has reduced my incoming e-mail by nearly half.
Second, I stopped opening anything that even vaguely resembles spam or junk mail. If I don’t open paper-based junk mail, why should I open virtual junk mail? Opening junk mail is a distraction and a waste of time.
Deleting e-mails is among my top five, least-favorite duties—I’d far rather clean toilets. But someone has got to take out the trash and dump the compost, even in cyberspace.
Approach social media with caution
Everywhere I travel, I hear people tout the merits of social media. And, as with other applications of technology, some of this praise is deserved. Social media provide a way to connect, to create community, to share information, and to promote good causes. But if there is one area of technology that gives me the heebie-jeebies, it is social media. Why? Because the price we pay is privacy.
Every time we log on, Father Internet is collecting information about how many avocados we purchase, what library books we check out, which Netflix videos we rate at five stars, how long we linger on a web page, and where we spend, invest, and give away our money. The most disconcerting part, though, is that no one forces us to participate. Voluntarily, we are giving away our privacy. I’ve heard people argue that if you have nothing to hide, what’s the big deal?
My concern is not whether people have anything to hide—Jesus will shine a light on everything in the end—it’s about humility, modesty, and discretion. By now we have all heard a story like that of the middle-school girl who receives a bare-chested text photo from a guy she likes, responds with a nude of herself . . . and finds it sent to hundreds of other “friends” on Facebook in no time. Rumors fly, school authorities are notified, the shocked parents are called in, the girl is alienated and transfers schools. Although she deeply regrets her impulsive (and foolish) action, the label follows her and she is scarred.
Severe cases, such as the gay boy who is outed on Facebook and ends up committing suicide, make the headlines. But many adults, like the middle-school girl’s parents, are clueless about what is happening in their own homes and neighborhoods. Other adults are participating themselves. As recent technology-assisted sex scandals among politicians attest, wealth, social status, or education level does not protect us from the dark side of ourselves in any situation, whether online or off.
Of course, incidents of rude, crude, tactless, impulsive, reckless, and thoughtless behavior are everywhere; social media simply have the capacity to spread these actions further and faster. As I mentioned earlier in this chapter, the Amish were wary of networks long before the cyber variety came to be, but their caution makes a lot of sense in light of the social ills allowed to metastasize via social networks. For instance, the Amish are very intentional about visiting neighbors and developing strong community ties. Such face-to-face relationships can be weakened by hyperconnectivity in the virtual world. Social media quickly become unsocial means of communication when all your friends live within horse and buggy distance.
Another hazard of social media is TMI: teens and adults alike are being crushed by Too Much Information. We share too much. We receive too much. Then we expect some digital trash compactor to squash it all into a neat little cyber package and make it go away.
Amish culture is the inverse of TMI. For the most part, the Amish are a people of few words. They hold their tongues in obedience to God’s Word. Allowing biblical wisdom to give us pause when we engage in social media is one way to start becoming Almost Amish.
• Proverbs 18:2—“Fools have no interest in understanding; they only want to air their own opinions.” (Blog posts, comments on blogs?)
• Proverbs 18:21—“The tongue can bring death or life; those who love to talk will reap the consequences.” (Regrettable tweets?)
• Proverbs 25:23—“As surely as a north wind brings rain, so a gossiping tongue causes anger!” (Celebrity worship, scandal mongers?)
• Proverbs 13:3—“Those who control their tongue will have a long life; opening your mouth can ruin everything.” (Political brouhaha?)
• Proverbs 15:4—“Gentle words are a tree of life; a deceitful tongue crushes the spirit.” (Middle-school Facebook?)
The intent behind such admonitions, not only in Proverbs but throughout the Bible, is consistent: loose lips sink ships. Or, as a wise Amish proverb puts it, “Blessed are those who have nothing to say and cannot be persuaded to say it.”
Let’s Sum It Up
When asked who they think is the greatest livi
ng writer today, both my son and husband answered the same: Mark Helprin, master of many genres (if you have not read his Swan Lake trilogy, you should, even without a child to sit on your lap). Among many other things, Helprin has written a manifesto titled Digital Barbarism, in which he warns against worshiping at millions of man-made altars. We allow even “the tiniest of these, that fit in our ears or that we can barely operate with our thumbs,” to exercise control over us. “Who is servant, and who is master?” he asks.
It’s a timely question with eternal implications. In Helprin’s view, there is hope that we can control the role of technology in our lives through an act of will—“the will to do without, the will to have less, the refusal to model human nature after the mechanical.”
This “will” implies conscious choice. When we face the fact that technology is neither fully good nor fully bad, but a tool to be used at our disposal, it becomes easier to see that we can exercise choice over how we use it. Temptation comes in many disguises. We love the allure of convenience; we hate the tyranny of a digital dependency. But as with any other good, a sober-minded faith seeks to use technology in an appropriate way; we should not become either a slave or a glutton on account of it. The Amish show us how restrained use of technology can allow more time for others and result in healthier, richer lives. As we use the paradoxical teachings of Christ as our model, setting boundaries with technology can be one of the most liberating things we can do.
Chapter 3
Finances
Saving more and spending less bring financial peace.
Our anniversary and my birthday are just five days apart. While gifts have never been my primary “love language,” since we downsized I’ve made an even greater effort to resist the temptation to reclutter. In our town house, there’s simply not a lot of room for extra anything. One result is that I rarely ask for presents, but this year was special—our thirtieth anniversary. We had just moved downtown and I wanted bike baskets to help tote the groceries, so I asked Matthew to equip my bike, which was nearly two decades old and had never had a tune-up, for urban commuting.
Matthew walked my bike over to the local shop and ordered the works—high-tech commuter bags, a water bottle holder, the kickstand that I had never gotten around to putting on—price was no object. When it was ready, he asked me to come take a look, excited to show me all the new features. Then he encouraged me to take it for a spin to make sure everything worked okay.
After Matthew adjusted my helmet (once an ER doc, always an ER doc), I rode the five blocks to Emma’s apartment. The bike practically drove itself—the gears switching more smoothly than they had in years, the brakes gliding me to a gentle stop minus the usual blue-jay screech. I parked the bike next to Emma’s door and ran upstairs. We chatted for a few minutes. When I came back down, the space where I had left the bike was empty. My newly restored bicycle was gone—vamoosed—stolen on its maiden voyage.
After my initial disbelief—it’s hard to take in that the gift you were given just a few minutes ago is now gone—and, yes, some decidedly not turning-the-other-cheek-type thoughts, I said a quick prayer for the person who stole the bike, hoping it was someone who needed it more than I did. Apparently the thief already had a helmet: mine was left resting on the top of Emma’s recycling bin.
When I called the police, they asked if the bike shop had recorded the bike’s serial number. Matthew handed me the receipt, to see if it had the serial number on it, and so I learned that—in his enthusiasm to please me with a special gift—he had spent more on the tune-up and accessories than I had originally paid for the bicycle.
I learned several lessons that day:
1. Saying a quick “hi” to your daughter—or anyone you love—often takes longer than expected.
2. If you never did like the bright purple color of your bike, add some fancy baskets and water bottles, and the problem will disappear.
3. God won’t strike you down for wishing a severe outbreak of acne on someone who does you wrong.
4. After venting vindictive thoughts, it feels good to pray.
5. Everything belongs to God.
6. Nothing of any real value can be taken away.
7. It really is the thought behind the gift that counts.
8. The best things in life are free (and most clichés are true).
9. You can purchase a replacement bike on craigslist with all the fancy bells and whistles for less than you would spend on accessories alone at a bike shop—in a color that is decidedly not purple.
10. Life works best with God behind the wheel, even (especially!) when it doesn’t seem that way at the time.
In the end, I felt sorrier for Matthew than for myself. He had been so keyed up about the gift, and then thirty minutes later it was gone.
While having the bike stolen certainly was not Matthew’s intention, it was actually the best birthday present that he could have given me: a yearly reminder that real security comes from God alone.
Money Matters: How “Amish” Are You?
Although Matthew and I have been simplifying our lives for some time now, we still have much to learn from Amish principles of financial simplicity. If you’re looking to make changes, it’s important to know where you’re starting from. Before we discuss how the Amish handle money matters, answer (honestly!) the following questions:
Stuff
Do you wish your home were less cluttered?
Do you have too many clothes in your closet?
Do you have recreational or sports equipment sitting in your basement or garage that is rarely used?
Do you own more high-tech gadgets than you need?
Are you renting a storage unit?
Debt and spending
If you use credit cards, have you ever paid less than the full balance?
Have you ever bought something on credit that will be worth less in a year?
Do you give away at least 10 percent of your earnings?
Are you depending exclusively on Social Security to provide for your old age?
Spending
Does anyone in your household shop recreationally—for example, go to the mall with no specific purchase in mind?
Do you ever buy gifts out of guilt or obligation?
Do you make major purchases without waiting a month to determine if you really need them?
Do you ever feel that you spent more than you should at Christmas?
Have you ever hidden a purchase from your spouse or bought something to get back at him or her?
If you answered “yes” to more than a few of these questions, you are not alone; so does our nation as a whole. It’s no secret that we are struggling under a weighty debt burden in our country, but are we as individuals doing any better? We all have much to learn from our Amish friends—so let’s take a look at how they view finances.
Survival of the Thriftiest
During the recent economic downturn, a number of newspapers and magazines ran stories on how the Amish have not only survived, but thrived. At first I thought the Amish might have been helped by an unfair tax advantage, but it turns out that they are responsible for income, property, and sales taxes, just like the rest of us. The only exception is Social Security: they are exempted from paying in because they don’t accept government aid for their elderly. Why, then, is the five-year success rate of Amish businesses more than 90 percent, almost double the national average? The answer is simple: frugality. Amish monetary policy—little things matter; buy what you need, not what you want; waste not, want not—can make the difference between success or failure, especially in difficult economic times.
Thrift, delayed gratification, self-control, and sharing are the hallmarks of Amish finances. But what’s interesting to me is that these principles are based on a worldview of abundance rather than scarcity. When a couple gets married, friends come over to help paint the house. If someone loses a job, neighbors share produce from their gardens. When a family faces unexpected medical bills, the c
ommunity takes up a special collection.
What I find most beguiling about Amish finances is the underlying principle of humility. They do not buy things to impress or to draw attention to themselves or to win love. They understand that every single thing on earth is a gift from God, meant to be shared with others. And they act from the certainty that the most important things in life cannot be found at “the mall that has it all.”
Back to Basics
How did the Amish get so smart about money? They learned from the bestselling financial self-help book of all time, the Bible. God has given us more than eight hundred Scriptures on money and its proper role in our lives. Below are a few of the principles that guide Amish finances.
• Work hard. “Lazy people want much but get little, but those who work hard will prosper.” (Proverbs 13:4)
• Give God your firstfruits. “Honor the LORD with your wealth and with the best part of everything you produce.” (Proverbs 3:9)
• Spend wisely. “The wise have wealth and luxury, but fools spend whatever they get.” (Proverbs 21:20)
• Be honest in all dealings. “The LORD detests the use of dishonest scales, but he delights in accurate weights.” (Proverbs 11:1)
• Guard against greed. “[Jesus] said, ‘Beware! Guard against every kind of greed. Life is not measured by how much you own.’” (Luke 12:15)
• Be prudent. “Don’t begin until you count the cost. For who would begin construction of a building without first calculating the cost to see if there is enough money to finish it?” (Luke 14:28)
• Don’t become a slave to debt. “Just as the rich rule the poor, so the borrower is servant to the lender.” (Proverbs 22:7)
• Save for the lean times. “Have them gather all the food produced in the good years that are just ahead and bring it to Pharaoh’s storehouses. Store it away, and guard it so there will be food in the cities. That way there will be enough to eat when the seven years of famine come.” (Genesis 41:35-36)