In Praise of a Broken Microwave
Recently our microwave died for the second time in mere months. I’d normally be irritated at this interruption to the efficient clockwork of my scheduled days. What could be good about needing to stir oatmeal at the stove rather than nuking quick-cook oats in a minute flat? As a fulltime mother juggling laundry, writing, and a social calendar, how could it be helpful to have to re-bake last night’s lasagna rather than heating the mozzarella to boiling point in the microwave with the punch of a button? Why decline any technological assistance in making daily tasks easier and more efficient?
Inspired by Arthur Boers’ essential Living into Focus, I’ve been thinking about how the technology I lean on does not often shape me into the kind of person I seek to become. The rapid-fire ease of modern conveniences can breed a sense of impatience. If I make a practice of instant satisfaction in my daily rhythms, I expect other parts of life to move just as speedily. When many routine chores can be accomplished with the push of a button, an instant message, a quick Google search, it can be all too frustrating when my son–that beautiful, complex soul enfleshed–refuses to eat his prunes, when my husband unfolds a quandary like a Gordian knot, when I confront the darkness in my soul and mourn my laboriously slow formation into the image of God.
Humans have always struggled with impatience, but now instantaneity has become increasingly normalized–and demanded. By contrast, for most of human history, life and labor unfolded with the slow-changing seasons, the rhythm of creaturely legs, the burn of fire. Pauses–waiting for logs to smoulder, for the sun to rise, for seeds to sprout and grow and blossom–were entwined into daily life. I wonder what happened in people’s minds and souls as they waited for water to be drawn, for bread to rise, for clothes to dry. Was there more space for rest, for working out daily problems, for fertile emptiness, for prayer (1 Thess. 5:16)?
If I want embody the patience of our love-abundant, slowly-angered God (Ps. 103:8), if I want to become a compassionate person willing to be interrupted out of love (like the Good Samaritan [Lk. 10:25-37]), if I want to be attentive to God at all times (Ps. 25:15), still enough to hear the divine whisper nudging, correcting, encouraging (Is. 30:21), then I wonder what habits would assist me to those ends. If I want to cultivate perseverance and longsuffering for the nuanced challenges of life, I wonder what daily routines would shape that kind of heart.
What would it be like to cultivate relationships with technology that encourage steadfastness and honor the slow progression of human becoming? Slowing our rapid-fire routine is countercultural and, perhaps to some, luddite. But I think the question is worth pondering. When I stir oatmeal on the stove for a few moments, I’m given the gift of pause, to contemplate, to allow the day’s struggles and joys to percolate, subconsciously or not, in my mind. In moments of boredom (that gift so rare in the smartphone age) while waiting for water to boil, I can attune myself to God in a posture of prayerful listening. I can humble myself to adjust to forces beyond my craving for instant satiation.
Truth be told, my husband fixed our microwave, and I still use it, like I still use a washing machine, a dryer, a car, and a smart phone. But I am still wrestling with the questions of my relationship to technology. The answers differ from person to person, family to family. But just to question the efficiencies of life our culture deems unquestionable can bear fruit.
Even small shifts in daily choices can alter the trajectory of the soul, of life, of the universe.
Sometimes, I let towels air dry. Sometimes, I make bread instead of buying it. Sometimes, I stand at the stovetop to stir my morning oatmeal, and as I stir, I pray.
***
Check out Arthur Boers’ essential book here.
This series is inspired by my new book In Praise of Houseflies: Meditations on the Gifts in Everyday Quandaries (Calla Press) now available for purchase.Click here to join my e-letterfor more quiet reflections, book updates, and a few of my favorite things!
