Some folk like change.

They camp out all night forming lines around an entire store in wait of the newest iPhone. You’ve got to be kidding! I still don’t know how to call home with the old one.

What’s with all these setting updates? They present their new idea of the week as if it’s the best piece of technology ever shared. Do they truthfully believe this makes me happy? I’m about to take a collection to send the Apple team on a long needed vacation—preferably to a place that doesn’t have cell phone towers.

Then we have the other devices sent to torment my brain. How did typing a story onto a sheet of white paper become such a complicated mess? Now I have so many buttons on this contraption they call a computer, I want to throw it into the next world. But I don’t. It would only be tossed back. All God needs is His finger and a slab of stone.

A few weeks ago my husband Robert purchased a new car. When the salesman began showing us how to operate the navigation system we nearly croaked. Smiling, the salesman handed us a guidebook as large as the car manual, boasting about all the things this system would do.

Robert said, “All I want is to listen to the radio.”

We still don’t know how to bring up a little music.

The television is another matter. If I happen to get it on, I don’t know how to turn it off. It is managed with three remote controls. I’m as confused today as I was the first day we purchased this television. A few days ago I attempted to watch a movie with my granddaughters. One hour later I finally found the right button.

Change is charging life past me. Don’t these inventors understand that all I want is simplicity? I don’t require new gadgets to fill up other parts of my day.

Who has time to read an entire manual in order to call for pizza? I’d rather use my grandmother’s black rotary phone.

Advanced technology isn’t a sweet ride on the merry-go-round, keeping us all smiles and waiting for the next trip around the world. It’s viciously controlling and has us up all night fixing freezes, air printer failures, and turtle-like speed. When we think we’ve won, we discover our labor has disappeared into the unknown world of cyberspace. Ridiculous.

Simplicity. Does anyone crave for a return to family dinners without a chicken clucking at regular intervals from a phone? How about lingering on the porch swing just to inhale the scent of rain? Yes! See me as a child of nature all wrapped in dew from early walks—those walks with God bringing me back to what truly matters.

And what does matter besides the racing of media moguls? Humanity. Face-to-face time. Looking one another eyeball-to-eyeball with barely a blink as we share our heartfelt convictions. To smell the scent of someone’s labors, whether sweet or raw sweat. Speaking to God heart-to-heart rather than before an audience on social media among people who really don’t care about our sermonizing and open prayers.

It’s all too rushed, too crowded, too overdone. I’m eager for a drink of sugar- saturated lemonade, a long swim in the cool creek, a moment to think about my day among the roses. I want to sing a song to Jesus from the depths of my soul without caring if it’s off-key.

In the meantime, I’ll hang onto this phone, this computer, this television. Perhaps someone will stagger pass in great need of my silly electronics, and I’ll offer them at a reduced price.