We were never meant to know everything. That is not a failure of character; it is part of being human.
My phone can show me a war, a school crisis, a friend’s divorce, a stranger’s opinion, a fundraiser, a crime report, and pictures from a birthday party before I have finished my coffee. Then it asks for more attention. I can feel concern about all of it, but I cannot carry it all well. No one can.
In a classroom, you quickly learn that there is a limit to what a child can take in. Keep adding directions, noise, corrections, and new demands, and eventually the child stops processing. Sometimes they shut down. Sometimes they act out. Sometimes they stare at you and nod, but nothing is getting through. Adults do this too, though most of us have learned better ways to hide it.
Every one of us has limits on our attention, our mental/emotional energy, and our ability to care deeply. That matters! If I spend an hour scrolling through the latest posts from people I barely know, I may have less patience left for my spouse, my kids, my neighbor, or the friend who actually needs a phone call.
I keep coming back to one question: Should I know more about a Facebook friend I have not seen in twenty years than I know about the people near me? Online updates can create a feeling of closeness. But seeing someone’s post is not the same as sitting with them when life is hard, bringing them a meal, asking a second question, or remembering what they told you last week.
Now, don’t hear what I’m not saying. There is no virtue in ignorance. We need to know enough about the world to pray, vote, help, and care. Still, the endless feed is not the same thing as being informed. It mixes serious news with gossip and outrage until it all feels equally urgent. After a while, we may know many facts but have no clear idea what deserves our response. The worst part is that all of this information we get in our feed is algorithmically curated for us. That’s supposed to be a feature, not a bug. But the truth is that it creates a virus called the echo chamber that bounces around in our heads until we are convinced that the only reality is what our curated news and social media feeds show us. When we deal with people in the real world, we have to address their thoughts, concerns, and issues, not just the stuff we want to hear or see.
Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” Being still does not mean pretending hard things are not happening. It means remembering who God is and who is not. I can care, pray, learn, and act where I can. But I do not have to carry the whole world in my mind to prove that I care.
In the same way, I can choose to settle my mind. I can choose what I focus on. I can choose where my mental, emotional, and relational energy gets directed.
So, just like the rest of us, I am learning to make choices. I can mute the noise. I can leave my phone in another room. I can pay attention to the people God has placed close to me and trust Him with the parts of the world I cannot reach. That is not turning away from reality. It is admitting that I am not God.