“Daddy, can you take a picture of this?”

Ugh. That has to be the ten thousandth time I’ve heard this in the last 15 minutes. It’s not really her fault, though. It’s not as if she hasn’t seen us doing this from the time she first emerged from the womb until now, seven years later. But my recent departure from social media has also opened my eyes to this habit.

I used to take pictures of EVERYTHING. I’ve got gigabytes of poorly lit photos of food I’ve cooked, weird bugs I’ve seen, and really underwhelming pictures of the moon (you know what I’m talking about. You have them, too.) But over the last few weeks (months? I don't even know anymore.) as I’ve abstained from social media, it’s made me realize that the primary reason I took so many of those pictures was to share them online for a few internet points. Now this post isn’t about the evils of social media or anything [editor’s note: for that, click here]. Some people can participate in it in a healthy way. I just know who I am and how I’m wired. I can’t, so I quit. 

But, whether you’re headfirst down the hole of social media addiction, or you’re one of those superheroes with just unlimited self-control, the simple truth is, all of these things we’re sharing constantly are rarely anything more than a fleeting pursuit of the next endorphin rush we get from that little thumbs up icon. There was a guy named Pavlov who had a dog that did something similar. Science.

We think we’re making and sharing memories. We think we’re doing something good by preserving that moment. But, and be honest with yourself here, how often are you actually reminded of that tasty tasty pepperoni and pineapple pizza? [editor’s note: no.] Allow me to read your mail for a moment: you share it and then forget about it except for precisely once a year when it shows up in your Facebook memories.

Hang on before you start sending me your hate mail. I completely understand there are valid reasons to take pictures of things. I too have family and friends all over the country. And I’m totally onboard with sending them photos or sharing those things on social media so they can keep up with you and your life. But when we rely on our phones to make our own memories for us, we often end up remembering very little. How many of the pictures on your phone right now can you remember an actual story about? How often do you actually go back and look over them? How many of them have you interacted with beyond just that initial share to Facebook or Instagram?

There’s a reason that after crossing the Jordan, Joshua didn’t tell the Israelites “Oh, let me grab my papyrus and reed! Everyone stand over there. No a little closer. Okay smile! Janice, I said smile! Okay everyone hold just like that for about 2 hours while I draw this.”

This was a monumental moment in the lives of the israelites. They had finally crossed into the promised land. After escaping the clutches of Pharaoh, wandering in the desert for decades, hunger, thirst, all of the hardships they encountered along the way. It may be a silly example, but imagine for a moment that Joshua had a smartphone and snapped a picture of the crossing. How long after that do you think the Israelites would have remembered that experience? What about the next generation? Or the generation after? How long would it have taken to have completely forgotten everything that the Lord was faithful to have seen them through?

So what did Joshua do? He didn’t have his beloved iPhone with him at the time [citation needed], the Israelites wouldn’t stand still long enough for him to draw a portrait [another citation needed]. Well, let’s just take a look.

And Joshua said to them, “Pass on before the ark of the Lord your God into the midst of the Jordan, and take up each of you a stone upon his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the people of Israel, that this may be a sign among you.

Joshua 4:5-6a (ESV)

Joshua knew that this was a vitally important, formative experience for the Israelite people. He recognized God’s faithfulness on display here, and although Scripture doesn’t explicitly say it, I think we can exercise a little bit of liberty in saying that he likely recognized that without something to help cement this memory in their hearts, the Israelite people would soon forget as they so often did. It didn’t have to be rocks, it could have been anything. The rocks aren’t what was significant. The point was that Joshua made them do something that would make them remember this moment for ages to come, which he pointed out in the same passage.

When your children ask in time to come, ‘What do those stones mean to you?’ then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever.

Joshua 4:6b-7

Now, I’m not comparing your plate of chicken parm to the crossing of the Jordan. They’re certainly different things. Although I have had some pretty good pasta in my life. But the point remains, when you spend your life documenting everything that happens to you in that way, you often miss opportunities to truly experience the moment which means you miss opportunities to properly embody the excitement you had for that moment when you’re recounting it to your great grandchildren someday. I don’t know about you, but I’m personally excited to be able to tell my grandchildren, in vivid detail, all of the absurd things their parents did when they were kids. And by the time I’m old enough to have grandchildren, you can rest assured that my iPhone will have long since passed, but my memories will not have.

So now, when I’m asked, “Daddy, can you take a picture of this?” I simply reply: 

“No, baby. Because I want you to remember it and how excited you are about it. We’re not going to let every moment of our lives live on my phone.”