Advocacy

If you’ve been my friend or a reader of this blog for very long, you’re probably aware that I am greatly concerned about social issues. I feel personally convicted about the poverty, racism, sexism, and other types of discrimination and inequality that I see around me. These issues take up a great deal of my time and mental energy, and I’ve even written on some of these topics before.

But I struggle with my place in all of this. As someone who’s been blessed with a great deal of privilege, I sometimes wonder if I should have a voice in these areas at all. To be honest, I’ve never been personally affected by the inequalities that I feel led to speak out against. I’ve probably even benefitted from them at some point in my life, inadvertent as it may have been. So who am I to insert myself into a situation that seemingly doesn’t concern me and speak on behalf of people I don’t represent? Who do I think I am?

And yet, I still feel led to speak. Over time and through much discernment, I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t help but say something in the face of the inequality that surrounds me. And that puts me in a bit of a tricky position. I feel convicted to say something while still recognizing that I’m not speaking from a place of personal experience. And so I often wonder how to respect the experiences of those who are oppressed while also advocating for them.

It’s taken me a while, but I’ve come up with a system that I think works well for me and what I’m called to do. This may not be the perfect system for everyone, but for those of us who feel led to speak out for those we may not necessarily identify with, it’s at least a starting point for thinking through how we can helpful without overstepping.

Listen

The first step to solving any problem is understanding it, and when that problem impacts human beings, understanding means listening to those who are affected. Without first listening, there’s no way that we can accurately address the issue at hand. And while it may sound simple, listening actually may be the hardest step in this process. It involves some difficult actions on our part.

Listening involves getting out of our comfort zone. As I said above, we’re talking about problems that don’t directly affect us and those we tend to associate with, so learning about them must include reaching out to those we don’t know. This is uncomfortable. It’s probably going to be misunderstood. And it might even receive some pushback from the very people we’re trying to connect with. But it is necessary, and I can say from personal experience that it is worthwhile.

When I was in seminary, I became involved with Mission Waco, an organization dedicated to improving the lives of the underprivileged in the community. I worked nights at Mission Waco’s homeless shelter and taught job training classes to teenagers from nearby schools. Every week, as I drove to the wrong side of town and spent time with people I’d never even fathomed speaking to before, I learned about the experiences of homelessness, of mental illness, of abandonment, of poverty, and so much more. These conversations were difficult for me, but they opened my eyes to a whole new world of people just like me who were suffering from things I could never comprehend on my own. And it helped me understand their plight in a way that literally changed my life.

But that’s not all. Listening also involves trusting the people we listen to. Unfortunately, public discourse around oppression has afforded far too little trust to those who find themselves victimized. We default to disbelieving those who say they have been treated unfairly when we should actually be doing the opposite. Is it possible that a few may lie and take advantage of us? Yes. But it’s not our place to decide who needs help and who doesn’t.

We don’t get to look someone who’s been oppressed in the eyes and say, “I don’t believe you,” because when we do, we are responsible for traumatizing them all over again. It’s not our job to judge between those who deserve to be heard and those who don’t. It’s simply our job to listen and to take seriously what we are told.

Finally, listening involves silence. We cannot hear what another person is saying if we’re too busy talking ourselves. And when it comes to instances of injustice, it is particularly important that we practice silence in the midst those who have been mistreated. At most, we can say, “I’m sorry,” or respectfully ask questions in order to gain a better understanding. But at no point are we to criticize or call into question the experiences of the oppressed. To do so would be to undermine the entire endeavor.

Nor are we to swoop in and tell those we are trying to serve what they need, as we are far too often tempted to do. It’s not our job to tell them how to fix their problems. They know better than we ever could what they need. It’s our job to listen to their experiences, their desires, and their ideas for how best to move forward. Only then can we even start to know what it is to walk in their shoes, and only then can we move on the next step in the advocacy process.

Sympathize

Listening—and especially listening well—is an important first step, but we can’t stop there if we want to affect real change. Listening and understanding are admirable, but they don’t mean a thing if we don’t actually care. That’s where sympathy comes in.

I’m a knowledge person. I love to learn new things. I want to learn every fact there is to know about every thing that’s out there. And when I get interested in something, there is no limit to how far I’ll go to understand it as fully as I possibly can. That includes social issues. Before I ever found them important, I first found them interesting. So I spent a great deal of time and energy trying to learn about them, to gain as much knowledge as I possibly could.

This is great, and I would encourage anyone who’s interested in such topics to do the same. Read books. Watch videos. Take classes. Discuss these things with experts and with your friends. We should always be seeking to learn as much as we can about the things that matter to us. But if we stop there, if we seek knowledge simply for the sake of knowledge (as I’m often tempted to do), then it’s all for nothing because it’s never going to actually help anyone.

We have to take the next step. We have to go from knowledge to compassion. For some, that step may be small or even non-existent. But for others, it might be a big step indeed. It may even involve intentional effort. There’s a reason I’ve included sympathy as one of the three steps to advocacy. Without it, advocacy cannot happen, so we must do what it takes to develop it.

Fortunately, if we listen well, we won’t find ourselves too far from sympathy. How could we truly understand the suffering of those who are oppressed and not care? How could we truly understand their pain and not feel it ourselves? The only thing left to do is to allow ourselves to feel something, to become emotionally vulnerable to the stories that we hear and to the people who tell them. I’m not saying that this will be easy, but it is necessary. And if anyone deserves our sympathy, it’s those who have found themselves mistreated by society due to no fault of their own.

Facts don’t change people. Real stories told by real people change people. And when we take the time to listen to those stories, to relate to them, to feel the depths of them, we cannot help but be changed ourselves. We cannot help but develop sympathy and solidarity with those we feel led to serve. And when knowledge and sympathy come together, we suddenly find ourselves in the perfect position to do something that will make a lasting change.

Speak Out

So we’ve ventured out and listened to the voices of the oppressed. We’ve opened ourselves up to their stories and become sympathetic to their cause. What now?

We go back.

We return to our comfort zones, to our in-groups, but we return different than when we left. No longer able to remain complacent as others suffer, we are now motivated to take action. We can’t help but do something to combat the injustice that we see in the world. And one of the most important steps we can take is to speak out.

Whereas we are called to remain silent as we listen to those who are suffering, we are called to become vocal when we go back home. In this place, to be silent would be to deny the change that has taken place within us. Advocacy is ultimately about speaking out for those who do not have a voice. It’s not that they cannot speak, but that they will not be heard among the privileged. But there’s a chance that we will, and we have a duty to take that chance.

This is how we use our privilege for something more than just ourselves. It’s the only way that I’ve found to avoid playing into the system of oppression and exploitation that gave me a head start in the first place. I don’t deserve the blessings I’ve been given, but I can use those blessings to help bring justice to those who do not have it. And in that way, maybe I can make the world a better place.

Speaking out isn’t about spreading my opinions and beliefs. It isn’t about making a name for myself. It’s about sharing the experiences and concerns of those I’ve listened to so that maybe others like me will become concerned as well. If I’ve been changed by these stories, surely others will be, too. And maybe, by sharing the changes that these stories have caused in me, I can invite others to listen and to allow themselves to be changed as well.

That’s what I’m hoping for, anyway. That’s the point of this blog post, and it’s the point of a great deal of the conversations I have on a daily basis: taking what I’ve learned and felt through my experiences with the underprivileged and sharing it with others who, like me, have never experienced systemic injustice firsthand. It is my hope and prayer that we will collectively become more aware of and more concerned for these social issues and those who are affected by them so that together we can have the hard conversations and make the hard choices necessary to remove these inequalities for good.

And I believe it all starts with us being willing to listen, to sympathize, and to speak out. Will you be an advocate?

The God of Exceptions

Last Wednesday night, I was ordained into the ministry by my church. Surrounded by my friends, family, and mentors, I was able to share and confirm my calling with those I love. It was an incredible night, and I am so thankful for everyone who played a part in it.

For my blog post this week, I'd like to share the sermon I wrote and delivered for this service. It's something that I've been thinking through for the past couple of years, and I think it represents my hopes for my ministry going forward. I've embedded the video below, but I've also included my manuscript in case you'd rather read it. As many of you know firsthand, I'm a much more natural writer than speaker.

Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed justly, for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong.” And he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And he said to him, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.” —Luke 23:39-43

If you ever attend a Passover seder, you might notice something a little peculiar. Sure, you’ll see the expected Passover lamb and unleavened bread. We know all about that. But then you’ll also see the cups. As part of the meal, everyone gets a cup of… well, Free Will Baptists call it “grape juice.” There’s one for mom, one for dad, maybe one for grandma and grandpa, and one for every aunt and uncle, too. But once all the cups have been passed out, you might notice that there’s still one more. There’s an extra cup just sitting there, full, ready for someone to drink it. And you might wonder, “Who could that be for?”

And if you get up the courage to ask, the family members will be happy to tell you exactly who that extra cup is for. It’s for the prophet Elijah. As you probably remember from the book of 2 Kings, Elijah’s life didn’t end the way human lives normally do. Whereas most people throughout history have died, had funerals, and been buried, Elijah took a different, more theatrical, route. You see, when Elijah’s time had come, he did not go gentle into that good night. Instead, he rode off into the sky in a chariot made of fire, leaving nothing but his cloak and his stupefied apprentice behind.

And it only makes sense that if Elijah went riding off into the sunset, he’s got to come back down eventually. He never actually died, after all. And good Jewish families want to be sure that if the prophet shows up for dinner, they’ll be ready for him. And so, every Passover seder, they set out an extra cup just for Elijah in case he decides to grace them with his presence that evening.

Now, I’m not telling you this to make fun of this practice. In fact, I think it’s beautiful. It highlights a truth that these Passover celebrants are often better at recognizing than we often are. It celebrates the fact that we worship a God who loves to make exceptions to the rules.

And don’t you just love it when you get to be the exception to the rule? It makes you feel special, right? I remember when my family and I went to Disney World, we had the best time. My brother had just had knee surgery, so he was in wheelchair, which meant that we got to go the front of all the lines! We didn’t have to wait 45 minutes to get on the Tower of Terror like all of those able-bodied suckers in the back. No, we got to march right up to the front and hop on in no time as everyone else gave us death stares and we just smiled.

We like to be the exception to the rule. It’s fun when you get that free refill at your favorite restaurant. Or when you get to use that coupon that expired yesterday. And I think most of us have experienced the relief that comes when you get caught driving just a little faster than you should be and the officer lets you off with a warning. I’m not saying we shouldn’t have rules. Rules are in place for a reason. But we all have times when we enjoy the benefit of being the exception.

And in our text from Luke, we see another example of someone who benefitted from being the exception to the rule. The man being crucified next to Jesus wasn’t a saint by any means. We know that at the very least, he was a thief, and who knows what else he did to get himself up on there on that cross? Whatever it was, he clearly felt like he deserved what he was getting. Little did he know that he was about to get so much more than he deserved.

Can you imagine what it must have felt like for that thief when Jesus looked him in the eyes and said, “Today, you will be with me in paradise”? If I were him, I would be dumbstruck: “Wait a second. I’m being killed for my crimes, and here the savior of the world is telling me that I’m going to go hang out with him when this is all over? How did we get here?”

You see, that thief was mere hours away from a terrible fate. He’d lived his life, he’d made his choices, and now, he was about to suffer the consequences of what he had done. When Jesus turned and looked at that man, he saw someone headed for hell. But when he looked away just a few moments later, everything had changed. With one sentence, Jesus reversed the trajectory of that man’s eternity.

It wasn’t anything that that man had done. He hadn’t made any sacrifice or prayed any special prayer. He just… hung there as Jesus declared that he was saved. This thief was the first person to receive eternal life through Jesus Christ, and he received it for no other reason than that Jesus chose to give it to him.

That, my friends, is the greatest exception to any rule in all of history. A human soul on its way to hell suddenly changed course by the grace of God, and now, that thief will spend eternity in heaven. The importance, the innovation, the incredible nature of this event cannot be understated. In this moment, God made an exception to the rule, and it changed everything.

God made an exception for Elijah. He made an exception for the thief on the cross. And he continues to make exceptions to this day.

The truth is that each of us in this room who are Christians have benefitted from being made exceptions to the rules. The rules say that anyone who commits sin, who turns away from God, who participates in the brokenness of this world, is deserving of separation from God, spiritual death, and eternal punishment. That’s what the rules state, clear as day. But praise God, he made an exception out of each and every one of us. God broke his own rules. He broke into history, overcame sin and death, and gave each of us an opportunity to be an exception to the rule. To know him. To be reconciled to him. And to live forever with him. Aren’t you thankful for that?

And as I read this story and reflect on what it means for God to make exceptions to the rules for us, it makes me wonder about ways that we can share in that, ways that we can make exceptions to the rules for others.

The rules say, “An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.” Except, Jesus taught us to forgive others rather than to seek revenge.

The rules say, “If you don’t work, you don’t eat.” Except, my church has a food bank every Monday from 1:00 to 3:00. Won’t you come?

The rules say, “A preacher can’t have a haircut like that!” Except, here I am. Sure, my church family likes to poke fun at me for my (admittedly unorthodox) hairstyle, but they don’t mean it negatively. Many of the people at my church are as old-school as they come. And yet, they accept me with all of my quirks. As trivial as it may sound, they’ve made an exception out of me in this, and I can’t thank them enough.

The rules say that our society is divided on social, racial, economic, and political lines that cannot be crossed and cannot be reconciled. Except, the Bible tells us that, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus“ (Galatians 3.28). And may I add that in Christ, there is no black or white, no rich or poor, no liberal or conservative. We are called to be the exception to the rules that try to divide us.

The rules say that this world is a broken place full of fallen people and that nothing good can come of any of it. The rules say that we are selfish, sinful people who aren’t interested in anything except our own well-being. The rules say that we are helpless in the face of the evil that surrounds us and that all that’s left for us to do is to give in. Except, we worship a God who sets us free from all of that. Who breaks the rules for us and invites us to do the same for others.

We serve a God of order. A God who made the rules that we adhere to. But we also serve a God of grace. A God who makes exceptions to the rules, who performs miracles, who lets us off the hook when we clearly don’t deserve it.

Here’s the thing about grace. In the words of one of my favorite musicians, “The beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair.” It’s not fair when an exception is made to the rules, and some people may not like that. But we serve a God who has a habit of making expectations to the rules, and my hope for my ministry is that I can share the grace that’s been given to me, that I will alway seek ways to share that exception-making with as many people as possible. And I invite you to do the same.

Jason Isbell, God, and Our Plans

Every once in a while, I hear a song that just sticks with me. I can’t shake it. I listen to it over and over again trying to get it out of my system, but just when I think I’m over it, the song pops right back into my head, and all I can do is put on my headphones and press play. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, I can listen to a song dozens or even hundreds of times before it passes.

“24 Frames” by Jason Isbell was one of those songs for me.

This song stuck with me for a while when I first heard it. It’s not the style of music I typically listen to, but when I first heard my music pastor in Waco playing it a couple of years ago, I instantly knew it was a song I was going to have to spend some time with.

I thought the metaphor of 24 frames was clever. (For those who may not know, a frame is just a still image, and 24 of them are combined to make one second of film. So, one second in movie time is 24 frames, or pictures.) And I thought Jason Isbell’s reflections on his relationships during the verses were certainly relatable. But that wasn’t what really hooked me. What got me was the line in the chorus that refers to God as a pipe bomb.

What?

When I first heard that line, I had two reactions almost simultaneously: shock and agreement. I thought, “I’ve never heard God spoken about that way before, but yeah, I guess it’s kind of true.” But I wasn’t content to stop there. I needed to dive deeper. I wanted to understand what it was about that line that both surprised and informed me in ways that I wasn’t yet able to put into words.

So I spent a lot of time with this song. I listened to it over and over and over. I learned every line. Sang it out. Sometimes I would turn the music off and just sing it to myself. I kept repeating this song for weeks, and even when I finally stopped listening to it so intensely, I still thought about it often.

When we started doing a study on portrayals of God in culture for my Bible study, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to take all of my ruminations about this song and finally put them into something comprehensible. I wrote a rough outline and used it as the basis for a great discussion with my class, and after all this time, I think I’m ready to share what this song has helped me realize—or at least understand more clearly—about God.

God is unpredictable.

“You thought God was an architect; now you know he’s something like a pipe bomb ready to blow.”

You know what would be nice? It would be nice if God wrote us a book that detailed his plan for our lives from beginning to end and all we had to do was follow the steps sequentially. That would be so very convenient, wouldn’t it? So simple. Unfortunately, that’s not how it works.

But it is a common misconception. I thinks it’s natural for us to believe that God’s plan for our lives is clear, straightforward, and, well, easy. To us, God is like a master architect who’s slowly and meticulously constructing our lives using a blueprint that we have access to if we can just crack the code. Sometimes, we go so far as to believe that we know every facet of God’s will for our lives. And when we do that, we’re setting ourselves up for disappointment, or worse.

God does speak to us through a book, but that book doesn’t tell us that God’s will is easy. It gives us some hints about seeking God’s will, but mostly, it tells about God himself. And at one point pretty early on, God reveals his nature in the truest way that human words can express. He tells us, “I am what I am” (Exodus 3.14).

You see, we don’t get to tell God who he is. Only God can define that. And anytime we allow ourselves to develop a static, limited image of God in our minds, he swoops in and complicates it. Because he’s always so much more than what we understand about him. That’s what we call his transcendence: He is more than we imagine him to be.

And one result of transcendence is that, to us at least, God is unpredictable. We never know exactly what he’s going to do next. We may feel like he’s preparing us for one thing only to find out that he has something completely different in mind for us. And in order to do that, he has to get rid of anything that’s in the way. Which means sometimes, he has to blow some stuff up. And now the pipe bomb analogy is starting to make sense.

Let me be clear: I am not saying that God is out to get you and to destroy everything you love. There are actually some people out there who see God as the antagonist of their story, the one who is trying to tear them down. And that simply is not true. God is loving, and everything he does, he does for our own good. It may feel like the end of the world when God tears down something we’ve spent so much time and energy building up, but through it all, we must remember who God is. He may be hard to predict, but he is always good.

As hard as it may be to accept, we serve a God who does new things. He is creative and innovative, and he’s been creating and innovating from day one. The universe itself is a result of his creativity, but he doesn’t stop there. God is always doing something new in the lives of his people, and it may be scary, but when it feels like God’s unpredictability is destroying all that we’ve built, we have to believe that he’s doing something new, and we have to have faith in who he is.

God isn’t constrained by our plans.

“Everything you built that’s all for show goes up in flames in 24 frames.”

I’ve always been a planner. For as long as I can remember, I’ve constantly wanted to know what’s next. This has certain benefits. It helps me prepare for the future, and it eases the anxiety that comes with uncertainty. It also sets me up for success. These positive side effects of planning are real, but there’s a dark side to my obsession with making plans, too.

When I’m at my worst, I become dogmatic about my plans. I get so focused on my idea how things should go that any slight deviation from the agenda becomes a catastrophe. I get nervous and frustrated. I shut down. I sometimes feel like I want to call the whole thing off because if it doesn’t go my way, then it’s never going to be right. This approach to planning is unhealthy, destructive, and ultimately self-defeating.

Because the truth is that plans change. And my plans are rarely—if ever—flawless. And so, when I’m planning an event with other people or thinking through my long-term goals or even just deciding what I want to do on my day off, I have to practice a certain amount of flexibility and even humility. When it comes to God and following his plans for my life, these practices are all the more critical.

Proverbs 19.21 tells us, “The human mind may devise many plans, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will be established.” Basically, what this means is that we can do all the planning in the world, but in the end, God’s plan is the one that will be carried out. Our agendas may seem solid, even perfect. But if they aren’t in line with what God wants, they will crumble in his wake.

This is a hard truth to accept, especially when what we want doesn’t align with what God wants. Of course, we think that we know what’s best for us. We believe that no one could possibly come up with a better plan for our lives than we could. After all, who knows us better than ourselves? Who understands our hopes, our dreams, and our needs more than we do?

The answer to those questions is that God does. Because we are fallen people living in a fallen world, our very minds—our cognitive abilities themselves—have been corrupted. And that includes our knowledge of ourselves. A plan that may seem perfectly logical to us could be a path to destruction from God’s point of view. But he sees the long-term that we can’t even fathom, and he knows what each of us ultimately needs.

When we prioritize our own plans above the will of God, we’re basically saying, “God, I’ve got this. I know what’s best for me. My plan for my life is better than your plan for my life.” We strive for control, and in the process, we dishonor God and elevate our own reasoning above his. This should not be so.

Sure, we can ignore God’s will and do our own thing. We can try as hard as we like to make our plans work. But we’re just extending that 24 frames into 48, 96, or more moments of heartache and failure until we finally decide to follow the only right path for our lives: the one he has for us.

God is the only one who truly knows what is best for us. Yes, it’s good for us to make plans, to set goals, to try to achieve the things that we feel led to pursue. But all of that planning must be done within the context of God’s will and with the acknowledgement that if he decides that he has something better for us, we’d best go along with it.

There is a Yiddish proverb that goes something like this: “Man plans, and God laughs.” I don’t think this image is portraying God as cruel. Rather, like a loving father, God looks down on us scrambling and stressing, trying to come up with some coherent plan for our lives and stick to it, and he chuckles to himself, saying, “If only they realized that I’ve got this covered.” And when we stop focusing on our own agendas long enough to really think about it, we realize that he does.

God has plans for us that are far more wonderful, fulfilling, and impactful than we could ever imagine. He knows each of us intimately, and he knows exactly what is best for us. God is not limited by our imperfect plans, and we should be thankful for it. Like the song says, we build and we build, and sometimes we even do it for the wrong reasons. In those times, God has a different plan for us, and that can be scary. But once we humble ourselves and recognize that he has the best possible plans in mind for us, we can let go of the burden of directing our lives and allow God to do his thing.

God has the best in mind for us.

“You thought God was an architect; now you know he’s sitting in a black car ready to go.”

Because the truth is that he’s not going to leave us in a place of destruction. Sure, he might have to blow up some bad ideas and tear down some flawed plans in order to get us where we need to be, but he never stops there. He always has something ahead of us, something for us to look forward to, some new plan for us to pursue.

I spent a lot of time struggling with the last chorus of this song. In it, the singer no longer compares God to a pipe bomb, but to a car driver. Who could this be? A chauffeur? The singer’s manager? I’m still not completely certain the exact image the singer is trying to convey, but I’m also not sure that it matters. Because I’ve come to understand the truth behind it.

Yes, sometimes God is disruptive and unsettling like a pipe bomb, but then, he’s encouraging and soothing. He waits for us to catch up to him on his path for our lives, and he stands ready to bring us along for the ride. He’s patient. He’s kind. He’s ready to give us just the little push that we need to take the next step on the wonderful journey he has in store for us.

After the explosion has rocked our lives and the smoke has cleared, God remains. He doesn’t abandon us. Rather, he stays with us and helps us move on. It’s hard when something we thought was going to be good suddenly falls apart, and God understands that. He sympathizes with us and comforts us in those moments. And when we’re ready, he helps us move past those moments so that we can begin to build something new.

When he was on earth, Jesus told his followers, “But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you” (Matthew 6.33). “These things” could mean any number of different things depending who you are and what you need. I think that Jesus used an all-encompassing term to let us know that it doesn’t matter what we feel like we’re missing out on or what needs we have that won’t be met. As long as we’re following after him in humble, obedient faith, he will take care of the rest. And he will give us a life that’s better than anything we could have come up with on our own.

The image of God as a pipe bomb is unsettling. It’s not one we like to think about, but we cannot deny that it’s true. And if we want to truly understand and relate to God, then we have to recognize him in all of his facets. One of the ways that God works in our lives is through tearing down our misguided plans in order to make room for his perfect will. This can feel like the hardest thing we’ve ever endured, but when we feel our lives being shaken by God’s corrective power, we can rest in the fact that he is still with us in the wreckage, and he’s always ready to show us what’s next.

Breaking My Nastiest Habit

Warning: This post might gross you out a little bit. (It certainly did me.) I’m sorry if it does, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.

So I have a problem. And it’s a little uncomfortable to share, but I’m going to do it anyway. Because this is the internet, and that’s what we do here, right? We overshare. Here’s my issue: Every once in a while, as I’m going about just living my life, I look down at my hands and come to a sudden realization that completely derails my day and sends me into a self-conscious tailspin. It’s embarrassing. It’s obvious to everyone around me. And it’s a source of endless insecurity.

Sometimes, I forget to trim my fingernails.

Gross. Blech. Hurl. I know. I told you it was embarrassing. But I want to be clear: This problem is not due to a lack of personal hygiene. I take care of myself. But keeping my fingernails at bay has never been a concern for me because I’ve always done it subconsciously through what I call the “natural method.” That is, I used to chew them.

I did it all the time. Everywhere. In public, in private, in the car, in bed, at work, at church. It didn’t matter. I was constantly sticking my fingers in my mouth and biting off pieces of my fingernails. Now that is disgusting. And I hated it. I knew how socially unacceptable it was. I knew how gross it was. I knew how strange it made me look to other people. But I just couldn’t stop. For as long as I can remember, I’ve chewed my nails. It’s just always been a thing that I do.

But one day last year, as I was sitting in class and chewing my nails in front of God and everyone, I stopped and said to myself, “I will never do this again.” And that was it. I quit cold turkey, and I haven’t looked back. I can honestly say that since that day, I’ve never chewed my nails again.

Which leads back to my long nail issue. I literally had to go out and buy fingernail clippers because I’ve never owned a pair before. And I’ve had to learn to get into the habit of taking care of my nails, something I’m still working on to this day. But recently, after a long-overdue round of nail-clipping, I started to reflect on how I got to this place.

How is that I changed my lifelong nail-biting habit so suddenly and seemingly so permanently? What was it about that decision and the circumstances surrounding it that made it such a success? I can’t say that I have it completely worked out, but I have come to a few conclusions that I‘d like to share.

For me, breaking this habit wasn’t a struggle. I didn’t waver on it. I didn’t feel an overwhelming compulsion to go back to my old ways. I didn’t have to wean myself off of it slowly until I finally broke free from it forever. It wasn’t an uphill climb, but more like a light switch. Suddenly, the switch was turned off for good.

But on the flip side, it was a long time coming. Though I had never tried to quit before, I had often berated myself for the habit. I knew how bad it was, and I knew that I should quit. I had just never taken that step of turning it into a reality. Mentally, I was aware of the need for a change, and before I even realized it, the right time had come. I don’t think I would have been successful had I tried any time before.

One of the biggest factors for my success was the feeling of general security that I had at the time. I was in a place where I was comfortable and happy. I had a regular schedule, healthy habits, and a great social life. It turns out that having your life in order actually creates space for self-improvement rather than inspiring complacency. Had I been in a less secure and healthy place, I probably would have slipped back into the habit the second the opportunity arose.

Sure, I’m still tempted sometimes. I’m not sure that it’ll ever go away completely. Especially in times of stress, I feel my fingers inching towards my mouth, almost like muscle memory. And I’ve come pretty close to relapsing once or twice. But I don’t live in a constant state of withdrawal symptoms because I’ve successfully broken the habit in the right way, and I know that it’s broken for good.

And on top of breaking my bad habit, I’m learning new habits. Like clipping my fingernails. And taking care of myself in more substantial ways. That may be the most beautiful thing about breaking bad habits: It leaves you free to create new, positive habits that give you life. And isn’t that the point of it all, anyway?

I’m not writing this to pat myself on the back or to say that my way of breaking a bad habit is the only way. Certainly, there are circumstances where a habit can’t be broken cold turkey, and not everyone is fortunate enough to attain the kind of security that I had when I made that change. But I hope that my reflections on this experience are helpful and maybe even inspiring to those who find themselves trying to improve through breaking bad habits and forming good ones. The truth is that no matter how hard it may seem, it’s possible, and it’s more than worth it in the end.

So take a chance. Break the habit. Form a better one. Maybe, like me, you’ll find success and make your life a little bit better through it.

Ding

I’m standing in the doorway of my office, leaned against the doorpost, having a casual but enthused conversation with a coworker about the upcoming Star Wars movie. As we’re swapping theories about the latest trailer, I feel a vibration on my wrist. Then another one. And another one. It’s my smartwatch letting me know that someone is texting me. The haptic indicator is unnoticeable to my friend, but for me, it’s nearly impossible not to recognize it. And then I have to ask myself: Do I disengage from this enjoyable conversation to check my text messages, or do I ignore the constant buzzing on my wrist?

Later, I’m at my computer editing graphics for a marketing campaign, and I see a rounded rectangle slide in to the top right of my screen. Instinctively, I avert my attention to the notification, which informs me that I am once again the lucky recipient of a piece of junk email. I navigate away from the task at hand to my inbox, delete the message, inaudibly curse the sender of the unwanted message, and then try to return to the work, slightly less focused and markedly more agitated.

That night, I’m sleeping soundly in bed. The lights are off, and the only sound in my house is the soothing white noise coming from the table fan that I’ve never actually used to cool myself. Suddenly, I’m jolted awake by my phone’s bright screen accompanied by a chirping noise. Groggy and startled, I reach over and grab my phone to see what the commotion is about. The vital information that I just had to know in the middle of the night? Some stranger liked a dumb joke I had made on Twitter at lunch.

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As time goes on, it seems that I’m getting more and more notifications on more and more devices. Texts on my phone. Emails on my computer. Facebook pokes (yes, they’re still a thing) on my iPad. Exercise reminders on my watch. New releases on my gaming console. Software updates on my TV. The low battery indicator on my Bluetooth speaker. Everywhere I turn, something is dinging, pinging, buzzing, or full-on screeching in an attempt to get my attention and deliver some information that I just have to know right that second lest the world seemingly fall apart.

And of course, I buy right into it. The constant slew of notifications has trained me to react with near-Pavlovian compulsion to each and every one. I can’t help but look when a notification comes my way. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t even notice myself lifting my wrist and looking down at my smartwatch each time it vibrates. It’s become muscle memory. The gap between stimulus and response is practically nonexistent and—worse—completely subconscious.

This relationship with digital notifications begins at a positive place: We want to know what’s going on in the world, and notifications are supposed to help us keep up. When a friend texts us asking if we’d like to go out, we want to know so that we can respond with, “Heck yes I do!” When a family member calls to deliver important news, we don’t want them to get sent to voicemail. And when a supervisor sends an email requesting an update on the latest project, we know that responding quickly is key for future success. These notifications are helpful, even necessary. And so we buy into the system.

But then they just keep piling up. Suddenly, streaming apps wants to notify us every time a new show is added to their service. Our favorite restaurants ask to send us reminders about new menu items and limited-time offers. Social media networks demand that we pay attention every time someone starts typing a message to us, and again when they send it. (I’m looking at you, Snapchat.) Eventually, the amount of notifications we receive in a given day becomes so great that it’s unmanageable, and it begins to have a negative impact on our lives.

These notifications are distracting. We struggle to hold a conversation, enjoy a meal, or read a book without taking intermittent breaks to check our phones. We can’t even sit through a movie or TV show (which are meant to serve as distractions from real life) without getting distracted by our digital lives. These notifications divert our focus from what’s in front of us to something in the ether. And so we go about our lives only halfway-present to the people and tasks that we should be fully devoting our attention to.

They also form nasty, compulsive habits. Every time we get an Instagram like or a response from a friend, we get a tiny endorphin high. Our brains come to associate those tones and buzzes with attention, support, and excitement. And every time we check our phones, we reinforce this subconscious link. It’s a self-perpetuating cycle that leaves us staring at our screens waiting for the next notification to come in. (Don’t act like you haven’t done it.)

Not to mention that they are dangerous. They keep us from sleep, keep us from focusing while we drive, keep us dependent on our devices for comfort and interaction rather than finding those things on our own. It might sound like a trivial problem, but the stakes aren’t low here. There are real consequences to these issues that need to be addressed.

And on top of it all, most of these notifications are absolutely worthless. They’re garbage. We literally refer to them as “junk.” Be honest: What percentage of the emails that come to your inbox on a daily basis actually add value to your life? How often do you find yourself swiping away notifications because they’re in your way and don’t offer any relevant information? Do you ever find yourself frustrated or disappointed when your phone goes off and it isn’t what you were expecting? The truth is that we don’t need the majority of the notifications that come across our devices every day. They don’t offer any value to us.

Which has led me to the conclusion that if I never received another notification for the rest of my life, I’d be better off for it. It would be better for me to miss out on some texts, calls, and emails than to keep being bombarded by the never-ending slew of crap that’s coming to my devices each and every day. I would be less anxious, more present, and much happier if the notifications simply stopped altogether. What a sad realization.

I am the last person in the world to speak ill of technology. I love technology. It’s my career. It’s my hobby. It makes up a great deal of my life, and I get so much enjoyment out of it. But technology can be misused, and I believe it’s currently being abused to the point that it’s having a marked impact on our overall quality of life. As someone with a deep affection for technology, I can’t help but seek a better way. And I believe that a better way exists if everyone will do their part.

Part of it lies on the sources themselves. People and services need to start offering higher-value content if they want our time and attention. If something is going to interrupt my life and demand my focus, it better be pretty dang important. The ability to enter someone’s life at such an intimate level is no small thing, and it needs to be taken seriously by those who are sending out those notifications.

We also need to be given more control over our notifications by the makers of the technologies we use. Sure, there are some decent options right now, but they often require digging deep into a device’s settings and going through meticulous lists that most people just aren’t going to bother with. I should be able to define who I want to hear from and when. I should be able to tell my phone to only show me work emails during business hours and that while I’m asleep, only a handful of chosen people should be able to wake me up. If I really want to monitor one particular post I’ve shared on social media, I should be able to turn on notifications for that particular piece of content without getting notified every time someone comments on some silly video that I liked last week. Giving users control over their notifications would at least give us the option of unplugging a bit when we want to.

But ultimately, the responsibility lies with us to take control of our digital lives. Because we’re the ones who have to deal with the consequences. If you can’t kick the impulse to check for new likes every five minutes, delete the app for a while. If your family members complain that you aren’t paying attention to them, turn the dang phone off and enjoy a meal with them. If you can’t sleep at night because of the dinging and buzzing coming from your nightstand, there’s a “silent” option on your devices for just such occasions. It’s on each of us to make use of the tools we have (limited though they may be) to keep the notifications at bay so that they don’t prevent us from living our lives.

We’re in desperate need of a shift in thinking when it comes to notifications on our devices. We can’t go on like they are all valuable and we need them in our lives. We can’t go on like compulsively checking them isn’t hurting our relationships with those we love. We can’t go on like relying on these notifications for entertainment, comfort, and fulfillment is a sustainable lifestyle. We can’t keep ignoring the problem and passively checking every notification that comes our way.

Our devices offer us the ability to connect with others and stay informed about the world in ways that we never thought possible, and our lives are better for it. But they also offer never-ending sources of buzzes, dings, and other intrusions that aren’t worth our time and attention. Learning to distinguish between the two and remove the latter from our lives isn’t just important: It’s essential if we’re going to thrive in the digital age.