Who Was ‘i’ Without My iPhone?

Steve Jobs might’ve been a prophet. Or he at least predicted how his device would shape my future. After all, he placed the “i” next to “Phone” and, soon enough, wherever I was, my phone was right next to me. Through the ups and downs of my teenage years, the line between it and me blurred. I was my phone, and my phone was I.

But my iPhone wasn’t merely a core part of my identity—it helped me forge a new one. IRL, I was Luke Simon. But on my iPhone, I was luk3simon.

Luke Simon craved approval. But luk3simon didn’t care what other people thought.

Luke Simon felt dejected when girls rejected him. But luk3simon was all thumbs up and smiles.

Luke Simon longed for the good life. But luk3simon already had it.

As I aged, I never grew more comfortable with myself. Instead, I spent more and more hours each day as luk3simon. It was easier that way. Why face the man in the mirror when the man in the selfie had filters? Why face the God of reality when I could create my own? Why deal with pain when I could escape it?

During my last year of high school, I finally admitted I had a problem. I wanted more of Jesus, but the idol factory in my heart wanted more of something else: my phone. By God’s grace, I began to see I craved my phone not for its screen, or for its addictive entertainment, or even as an escape. What I truly craved was hope—hope for redemption, hope for restoration, hope for being the human that God created me to be. I craved the hope of the gospel. But whatever luk3simon offered Luke Simon, it wasn’t hope. It was a soul-sucking, empty world that only left me hopeless in the real one.

By God’s grace, I began to see that I craved my phone not for its screen, or addictive entertainment, or even an escape. What I truly craved was hope.

Thankfully, Jesus saved me from luk3simon.

Digital Detox

Around this time, I read C. S. Lewis’s Screwtape Letters, in which the demonic uncle Screwtape reminds his nephew that “all the habits of the patient, both mental and bodily, are still in [the demons’] favour.” The patient he spoke of was a new Christian, and I saw myself in him.

Though I dreamed of mastery over my phone, I knew that years of habitual phone usage cut deep grooves into my brain and only new habits were going to replace them. So, like any addict on the road to recovery, I admitted my powerlessness, called on God for help, and went to rehab.

My iPhone rehabilitation process included three adjustments:

1. Airplane mode at all times unless an internet connection is needed.

2. Leave my phone in the car when going to class and hanging out with friends.

3. Delete all social media.

This wasn’t easy. Suddenly, the “Phone” by my side for seven years was gone, and only “i” was left. Who was I without the phone? The brokenness I escaped for so long now became the brokenness I had to engage with. Without a digital world to play God in, I had to wrestle with the God of the real world. But as my digital fast wore on, I finally began to move beyond my initial hunger pangs for screens. In their place, I started to taste the goodness of God.

I picked up a new hobby with all my additional free time: reading. I read novels, theology books, philosophy books, biographies—anything I could get my hands on. But mostly, I read my Bible. And within the words of Scripture, I found the real Luke Simon in God’s eyes: I am his child (John 1:12), his workmanship (Eph. 2:10), a member of his royal priesthood (1 Pet. 2:9). I’m fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps. 139:14). I’m a new creation in Christ (2 Cor. 5:17).

As I read God’s Word, it felt as if he was airlifting the house of my life from the sinking sand of the digital world and setting it firmly on the solid rock of Christ. This was an identity I didn’t have to create. This was an identity I didn’t have to fake. This was an identity I didn’t want to escape.

Sober Return

Eventually, I was able to come back to my phone. On this side of rehab, my phone has become a tool to engage with God’s world instead of a world to escape to. But this isn’t a happily ever after. Since my phone is still designed to addict, I’ve learned to remain sober about its power, knowing it’s a far better servant than master—and it’s the sort of servant that always wants to swap roles.

On this side of rehab, my phone has become a tool to engage with God’s world instead of a world to escape to.

To avoid relapsing, I’ve learned to use it for God-glorifying ends. An app now guides my Bible reading and prayer times each morning and evening. The Bible Project classrooms give me in-depth biblical insight for free. Though I still abstain from social media, I’m active in group chats that aid my in-person and remote relationships, ranging from accountability groups to prayer requests to (of course) meme exchanges.

But this isn’t the story of digital responsibility. It’s the story of the gospel. Jesus’s beauty made luk3simon, with all his filters, ugly and unattractive. Jesus’s beauty took the “i” out of iPhone and gave me a new identity in him. Jesus’s beauty gave me the strength to see the man in the mirror, repent of his sins, and live into the true self my iPhone only blurred—the true self made alive in Christ.