An open letter to my teenage son about video games

Dear Son,

Even as we drive across the midriff of Canada, prairie skin stubbled with dry grass and grain elevators, you and your brother are seated in the back playing Super Smash Bros. I see the smiles on your faces, hear the gentle ribbing and the laughter, and for this moment, I’m grateful for video games.

Yet I don’t always feel this way and you often wonder why, and so do I. My grief stems deep, from teenage years when personal computers first appeared and my dad practically disappeared in his fascination with them. It seemed he’d found his first love.

And then there were the nightmares. You were young, and Minecraft had entered our home. At first it was fine. Then you played with the Mobs and the Nether.

And they kept reappearing in your dreams for months after.

Nightly I held you and prayed away the fear. I became very aware, then, what video games could be. How much they could steal from you, and from all of us.

The same goes for any kind of screen really – there’s potential for good and evil in it all, the biggest evil being the slow disappearance of people. When virtual reality becomes more real than the real.

I know you think I’m ancient in my values and traditions, and even though it stings, I pray I am, because God says to follow the ancient paths (Jer. 6:16).

Abraham Lincoln wrote a letter to his son’s teacher, once, when his son first began school. And when I read this part of his letter, my heart cries, because this is what I long for you, son, and for your friends and your entire generation:

“Teach him, if you can, the wonders of books, but also give time to ponder the extreme mystery of birds in the sky, bees in the sun and flowers on a green hill.”

The wonders of books. The gift of time.

In my travels to Africa, something that’s struck me is all the people sitting outside under a huge sky for hours on end. I used to pity them but now I pity us, because I’m convinced they are the first who will see Christ when he returns. I’m not sure we’ll know unless someone sends us a text message.

We are so busy indoors with our devices, the world is passing us by. We’ve forgotten how to be people. We’ve abandoned humanity for technology.

The truth is, son, I don’t hate video games. They can be a wonderful tool to unite and a source of joy and entertainment. I love joining you, sometimes, to play Ultimate Chicken Horse, and to watch your mad skills.

At the heart of the Great Commission is people. Let video games be a portal into what is real – the faces behind the screens. The living, beating, hurting souls.

May you have the courage to choose reality, every day, with all of its thrills and disappointments, and to follow the ancient paths.

For they will surely lead you home.

Love, Mom.