‘Think on these things’

There’s something a little ironic about someone in the news business saying this, but here we are.

I love the news. I believe in it. I believe in shining light in dark places and holding people accountable and telling the hard stories that need to be told.

But I don’t love the 24/7 drip of bad news.

It feels like everywhere we turn – television, social media, push notifications on our phones – there’s another tragedy, another scandal, another reason to be outraged. The cycle never stops. It doesn’t pause for us to catch our breath. It doesn’t allow space for processing. It just rolls on to the next terrible thing.

And I worry it’s doing something to us.

When every headline is urgent, eventually none of them are. When every story is heartbreaking, we start to protect our hearts by hardening them. What shocks us one week barely registers the next. We scroll past suffering in between recipes and vacation photos. We read about devastation and then move on to the weather.

That’s not because we’re cruel. It’s because we’re human.

There was a time when news came in measured doses – the morning paper on the porch, the evening broadcast at six. You had space in between to live your life. To sit at the dinner table. To walk outside and hear birds instead of sirens.

I find myself craving that slower rhythm.

Now, don’t misunderstand me. Ignorance isn’t the answer. Pre-tending the world is fine when it isn’t doesn’t serve anyone. As a journalist, I know there are real problems that deserve attention and solutions that begin with awareness.

But awareness without balance can crush a spirit.

Scripture offers a steadying reminder in Philippians 4:8: “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things.” It doesn’t say ignore what’s wrong. It doesn’t say stick your head in the sand. It says choose what you dwell on.

There is still goodness. There are still neighbors helping neighbors. Teachers staying late. First responders answering calls at all hours. Kids raising money for causes bigger than themselves. Churches quietly feeding families. Small towns showing up for one another.

Those stories matter, too.

Sometimes I think we need permission to turn it off. To silence the notifications. To take a Sabbath from the scroll. To sit on the porch and let life move at the speed of conversation instead of breaking news.

If you’ve found yourself feeling overwhelmed by everything that’s wrong in the world, you’re not weak. You’re not naïve. You’re not alone.

It’s heavy. It’s a lot.

Guarding your heart doesn’t make you indifferent. It makes you wise.

Maybe the answer isn’t consuming less truth, but consuming it with intention – alongside beauty, alongside gratitude, alongside hope.

I’ll keep doing my job. I’ll keep telling the stories that need telling. But I’ll also keep looking for the ones that remind us who we are at our best.

And on the days when the world feels too loud, I’m going to choose – deliberately – to think on these things.