June, 2005 TV

June, 2005

“Mom, we’ve got to help them,” Anna said with a desperate tone. She had just received an appeal letter from Samaritan’s Purse for the victims of the tsunami.

My heart ached for the people of Asia. In a matter of minutes, scores of thousands of people were swept into an eternity without God. Those who remained were injured, homeless, disillusioned, grieving. The love of Christ compels us to reach out. Yet I told Anna no.

I want my children to grow up having three things: a deep love for God, a heart for those who don’t know God and a passion for giving. I had been praying for a way to involve my kids in our giving or to develop within them their own passion for giving.

“No, Anna, I’m not just going to give my money. But whatever you choose to give of your own, I’ll double.”

“But, Mom,” she complained after a quick mental inventory, “I don’t have enough and they need a lot!”

“Then you’ll have to be creative,” I replied. I expected her to offer to clean someone’s house or do some babysitting. The next morning she came to me.

“How much does cable TV cost?”

“About forty-five dollars,” I responded.

“Could we go without TV for a month and send that?” she asked.

I thought about it. It’d probably cost more to de-activate it and hook it back up than to just go without. I figured we could just turn it off and give the cash.

“Sure.”

“Great, that’s $90!” she exclaimed.

Before thinking it all the way through, I countered, “Oh, no, Anna. I said I’d double whatever you gave. You’re not giving money – you are giving up TV.”

“But you promised!”

“I promised to double what you gave. You are giving up TV for one month, which would mean I’d give up TV for two months. I’ll still give the money that the cable costs, but that’s on top of this bargain. Of course, you realize if there’s no cable, you wouldn’t be able to watch TV that second month either.”

I was trying to tease her along, to stretch her. She agreed to exchange the $90 for a two-month moratorium and the next morning I came out to find the TVs had towels over them.

“It’s no big deal,” I thought. “I hardly ever watch TV. Others may be addicted, but we only watch the news while getting breakfast or a cooking show while I make dinner. We rarely sit down to watch anything. Oh, and I have a little set in the laundry room to occupy my brain while ironing. That’s it.”

Three days after The Draping of the Towels was Monday, my big laundry day. Twelve loads of laundry to fold. And fold. And fold. With nothing to look at. My mind was already numb and I still had two hours of ironing ahead of me. I comforted myself knowing that this would kill my brother-in-law with no ESPN. At least I didn’t have that habit. This was just a little thing I did, not really a habit. I could give up TV. I really don’t watch it that much anyway.

My mom couldn’t believe it nine years ago when I put a TV in the laundry room. “I always prayed when I ironed,” she pontificated. “Whosever clothes I was ironing, that’s who I’d pray for.”

Yeah, right. She had no choice. Her ironing board faced a wall.

Fifteen minutes into the ironing, I thought I’d go crazy. I decided to try Mom’s prayer idea. I always thought I’d had a good prayer life. I mean, I pray frequently and sometimes very deeply. But rarely for hours on end. Since Mike had the most clothes to iron, the praying was rather lopsided. Thirty minutes into the job, I found I was repeating myself and my mind was going to other topics. Then I thought of Mom. All of those cotton dress shirts, Levis, t-shirts. She ironed everything. She must have stood at her board for hours. I felt my competitive nature kick in. If Mom could do this then so could I.

I went and got my Bible, wrote out a couple of verses and taped them at eye level by my ironing board. Can’t pray? Fine, I’ll meditate. Somehow I’d get my holiness to out-do Mom’s.

A half hour from the finish line my brain was aching, my mind wandering all over the planet.

“What have I done? Two whole months? I don’t watch that much TV; it’s just peripheral to my other activities. So why is this killing me??!”

Days passed. The kids seemed unscathed. They don’t watch a lot of TV because they don’t do laundry, so they had no problem filling the time with their usual activities. By the middle of month one, I contemplated paying my kids just to come in the kitchen to talk to me while I cooked. I composed whole essays in my head while stir-frying and tried singing while folding clothes. By the end of the month, I had the order of songs on several CDs almost memorized. It would have been one thing if I had gained time from giving up an activity. But I didn’t even getting that luxury. No extra beauty. No heightened spirituality. No one would even know of my great feat.

With only two weeks to go, I happened to be at my cousin, Valerie’s, house. I noticed their TV was missing. “Oh,” she casually replied, “we gave up TV two years ago.” Two years?? I felt the bubble of competitiveness rise in my chest. Two years. Wow.

Time marched on and the second month finished on a Thursday not long ago. Friday was yet another laundry day. I turned on the tube but this time I found it to be kind of noisy. I turned it back off. I don’t think I’m any closer to being a spiritual giant, but at least now silence doesn’t frighten me.

Ian came to me about a week after we ended the moratorium. “I thought we could watch TV now, Mom.”

“We can, but I just don’t want the noise,” I replied.

Big bucket-sized tears sprang immediately to his eyes. (Boy, this kid is good.) “But Mom,” he wailed, “how are we going to watch the weather?!”

Try a window.

Like a rock,

Amy