My technology rebellion started on a Tuesday morning.
I’d just settled on the couch with a soothing cup of coffee, awakening to a new day.
My husband came in and switched on the television, intending to check the weather. A horrible news story flashed across the screen. Detailed video showed a home exploding with fire and destruction, the family possibly still inside.
I set down my coffee and trounced out of the family room. I wanted to run to the hills and live in a cave, safe from violence and intrusive technology. I vowed not to turn on the TV or my computer all day.
Because of my vow, I couldn’t vent my frustration via social media, emails, or text messages. So I unplugged.
Instead, I made a strawberry pie.
I picked up the all the fixings at the grocery store and practically danced as I lifted two quarts of fragrant strawberries into my basket, alongside real butter and pure vanilla.
On arriving back home, I skimmed over the recipe and gathered the necessary ingredients. As I uncapped a bottle of ground cinnamon, a sweet, exotic aroma reminded me of the warm muffins I’d baked for my kids when they were little.
When I measured a cup of flour, a soft, snowy cloud drifted into the air. Sugar added grainy texture to the mix. A tiny measure of dark vanilla had a potent whiff and a tentative taste reminded me of my mother’s buttercream frosting.
I melted butter in a pan until it sizzled. I removed it from the flame and let it cool, then added milk. I sliced a lemon in half, releasing its zesty, fresh fragrance into the kitchen. The smooth rind folded in my hand as I squeezed juice into the mix and felt a trickle flow between my fingers.
I rinsed the ruby-red berries and let the cool water flow over my hands. Memories of a childhood friend and a Sunday afternoon spent eating ice cream and strawberries (fresh from her Mom’s garden) came to me.
The crumb topping called for hand mixing. With clean hands I dove in, squeezing the creamy softness of the butter through my fingers and rolling it around in spiced flour.
Finally, the pie came together–smooth crust, strawberries, filling, and crumb topping.
I opened the oven and warm air surged over my face as I placed the pie on the center rack and closed the door. Soon, a sweet, buttery fragrance drifted through my house and transformed it into a home.
As I set the timer, I glanced at the digital clock. It had taken me almost an hour to put it all together.
But time didn’t seem to matter. I’d actually experienced something REAL. I hadn’t drifted through a two-dimensional existence, like I do when I’m staring at a screen. Instead, I’d been fully alive.
I’d enjoyed all the senses and gifts God has given me–seeing, thinking, feeling, remembering, touching, tasting, smelling, hearing.
I’d come back to my true self.
It felt good to be home.