Permission to Unplug
Social media is great for a lot of things. It keeps us connected to family and friends. I love the fact that I can watch kids grow into adults in Spokane, and then watch their kids grow. I really enjoy challenging and encouraging quotes. I like the odd meme or two. I like prank videos and pets doing funny things. I love to see sunsets, sunrises, and the beauty of God’s creation in mountain ranges and the beach. Yeah, social media is great for a lot of things.
It also does a good job reminding me that the world is broken. Social media is a remarkably effective way to remind yourself of how little hope the world has to offer.
A tragedy.
A crisis.
A diagnosis.
A war.
A family unraveling.
Another argument in an echo chamber.
Another “breaking” update…
And even when I’m not trying to, my heart starts absorbing it all like I’m directly responsible. Like a moth to a flame, I can feel like I need to speak to every cultural moment, every tragic event. And social media is filled with people who will shame you into picking a side.
You are either extreme right or extreme left.
You are either right or wrong.
You are either with me or against me.
There is no middle ground.
There is no room to converse, to ask questions, to be patient for the truth.
Here’s the thing. Our minds and hearts were not built to handle this much grief and heartache on repeat.
The subtle lie underneath it sounds responsible: If I look away, I’m ignoring reality. Or, If I unplug, I’m being selfish. But there’s a difference between being informed and being emotionally flooded. There’s a difference between compassion and constant exposure.
Scripture gives you permission to be human. “Cast all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). Not collect them. Not cope with them. Cast them. Hand them to Someone stronger.
And Jesus is not just strong, He walks with you.
He stepped into our brokenness, carried what we could never carry, and took our sin and sorrow to the cross.
He rose again.
He reigns.
He intercedes.
Which means your peace is not tied to staying updated. Your faithfulness is not measured by how quickly you post or how loudly you declare where you stand. Your hope is not fragile. And your rest is not irresponsible. It’s faith.
So if you need permission to give your heart a break, here you go...
Take the weekend off.
Close the apps.
Put the phone down.
Go be with family and friends.
Take a walk.
Read a Psalm.
Sit with Jesus long enough to remember what’s true when the world feels out of control…and to hear Him more clearly than the guilt trip. You see, we live in a world that treats immediate commentary like it’s a moral duty.
If you don’t post, you don’t care.
If you don’t weigh in, you’re complicit.
If you don’t respond fast, you must be afraid.
But that’s not always true.
Sometimes silence is how you refuse to let outrage disciple you. Sometimes silence is how you keep your soul from being dragged into a thousand arguments you can’t actually carry. Sometimes silence is how you protect tenderness, because your heart is already bruised and you know one more scroll will push you over the edge.
Scripture doesn’t shame that kind of restraint. It dignifies it.
“Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger” (James 1:19). Not because truth doesn’t matter, but because our words carry weight, and a hurried heart is rarely a wise heart. There are moments when the most faithful thing you can do is listen, pray, and wait before you speak. There are moments when speaking is easy, but speaking well is costly.
So maybe this weekend your silence is not avoidance. Maybe it’s worship. Maybe it’s you choosing presence over performance, prayer over posturing, and family and friends over the endless feed. Unplug. Enjoy your weekend.
It also does a good job reminding me that the world is broken. Social media is a remarkably effective way to remind yourself of how little hope the world has to offer.
A tragedy.
A crisis.
A diagnosis.
A war.
A family unraveling.
Another argument in an echo chamber.
Another “breaking” update…
And even when I’m not trying to, my heart starts absorbing it all like I’m directly responsible. Like a moth to a flame, I can feel like I need to speak to every cultural moment, every tragic event. And social media is filled with people who will shame you into picking a side.
You are either extreme right or extreme left.
You are either right or wrong.
You are either with me or against me.
There is no middle ground.
There is no room to converse, to ask questions, to be patient for the truth.
Here’s the thing. Our minds and hearts were not built to handle this much grief and heartache on repeat.
The subtle lie underneath it sounds responsible: If I look away, I’m ignoring reality. Or, If I unplug, I’m being selfish. But there’s a difference between being informed and being emotionally flooded. There’s a difference between compassion and constant exposure.
Scripture gives you permission to be human. “Cast all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). Not collect them. Not cope with them. Cast them. Hand them to Someone stronger.
And Jesus is not just strong, He walks with you.
He stepped into our brokenness, carried what we could never carry, and took our sin and sorrow to the cross.
He rose again.
He reigns.
He intercedes.
Which means your peace is not tied to staying updated. Your faithfulness is not measured by how quickly you post or how loudly you declare where you stand. Your hope is not fragile. And your rest is not irresponsible. It’s faith.
So if you need permission to give your heart a break, here you go...
Take the weekend off.
Close the apps.
Put the phone down.
Go be with family and friends.
Take a walk.
Read a Psalm.
Sit with Jesus long enough to remember what’s true when the world feels out of control…and to hear Him more clearly than the guilt trip. You see, we live in a world that treats immediate commentary like it’s a moral duty.
If you don’t post, you don’t care.
If you don’t weigh in, you’re complicit.
If you don’t respond fast, you must be afraid.
But that’s not always true.
Sometimes silence is how you refuse to let outrage disciple you. Sometimes silence is how you keep your soul from being dragged into a thousand arguments you can’t actually carry. Sometimes silence is how you protect tenderness, because your heart is already bruised and you know one more scroll will push you over the edge.
Scripture doesn’t shame that kind of restraint. It dignifies it.
“Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger” (James 1:19). Not because truth doesn’t matter, but because our words carry weight, and a hurried heart is rarely a wise heart. There are moments when the most faithful thing you can do is listen, pray, and wait before you speak. There are moments when speaking is easy, but speaking well is costly.
So maybe this weekend your silence is not avoidance. Maybe it’s worship. Maybe it’s you choosing presence over performance, prayer over posturing, and family and friends over the endless feed. Unplug. Enjoy your weekend.
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