How God can use the time I don’t spend scrolling
- Kate Tinio
- 24 hours ago
- 5 min read
This past Lent, I gave up social media. I expected to feel disconnected, maybe a little bored. What I didn’t expect was for God to completely rearrange my understanding of time and how he uses it.
When I first deleted the apps from my phone on Ash Wednesday, I didn’t feel holy or heroic. I just felt twitchy. My thumb had memorized the exact spots where the apps used to be. I found myself tapping blank spaces out of habit. My hand moved before my brain even registered what I was doing. That reflex alone told me something needed to change.
We don’t always realize how deeply these platforms form us until we step away. For me, the noise had become so normal that I forgot what silence felt like. Within a few days, I noticed a subtle shift: My thoughts became clearer. I wasn’t constantly reacting, comparing, and consuming. There was a margin again. I had space to think, to pray, to notice.
Social media isn’t evil. It can be used for good, for connection, even for evangelization. But in my life, it had started to fill every spare moment and occupy every crack in the day that could otherwise be an opening to grace. Scrolling had become a default setting, a filler.Â
But God doesn’t want to be squeezed into the leftovers. He wants to be the center.
God doesn’t want to be squeezed into the leftovers. He wants to be the center.
How my relationships changed
Without the constant stream of curated updates and hot takes, I found myself intentionally reaching out to people. Instead of knowing what was going on in someone’s life because I saw their story, I had to ask. I had to text. I had to call. And something beautiful happened: The quality of my conversations grew. I wasn’t just consuming highlights; I was hearing hearts.
One friend and I started exchanging voice memos for short bursts of real-time vulnerability, joy, or updates while folding laundry or pushing a stroller. Another friend and I set a recurring phone date. A few others I emailed — yes, emailed, like it was 2008. And in these new (or old) ways of communicating, there was space for presence. Space for intention. The absence of social media created room for community, which is what social media is theoretically supposed to provide.
I also noticed how my habits as a mother shifted. One of the hardest times not to scroll was while breastfeeding. It had become my go-to distraction during those long feeds, especially in the early hours of the morning. But in its absence, I turned to something else: reading.
With this one shift and access to the library’s digital app, I’m dominating my reading goal for the year. The time that once vanished into endless content now enriches me with stories, wisdom, and ideas. Even if I read just a few pages during a feed, that time adds up. I’m reclaiming it. And I’m remembering that even small moments can be intentional.
My daughter also benefits. I’m more attentive. More available. There’s less of a glowing rectangle between us. I can’t pretend every moment is a picture-perfect bonding session, and sometimes both of us can be tired or cranky or zoned out. But I’m present more often, and that’s a start.
A new rule of life
This experiment, born out of Lenten sacrifice, started shifting my priorities. And now in the Easter season, I know I can’t go back to how things were. I don’t want to. God has shown me just how much he can do with the time I don’t spend scrolling. And so, I’m moving forward with a new intention: I’m instituting a new rule of life.
It’s not a rigid schedule or set of punishments. It’s a gentle framework, a rhythm that helps me choose what matters most again and again. My rule is simple: prayer before screens, Scripture before scrolling. Daily Mass or a moment of silence with God in the morning. Set blocks of time for rest, reading, creativity, and relationships. I’m even going to pilates again. Technology isn’t banned, but it’s no longer the boss.
The saints didn’t become holy by accident. They cultivated lives ordered around God. I want to do the same, even in small ways.
The Church has always understood the power of rhythm and repetition. From the Liturgy of the Hours to the liturgical calendar, our faith is full of seasons and sacred patterns. The saints didn’t become holy by accident. They cultivated lives ordered around God. I want to do the same, even in small ways.
It’s easy to think that our time is too fragmented to offer anything meaningful. But God is the master of multiplication. He fed thousands with a few loaves and fish. He can work miracles with five quiet minutes. He can transform the ordinary if we give it to him.
God can use the time
Maybe you didn’t give up social media for Lent. Maybe you tried and didn’t last a week. That’s okay. I failed a few times this Lent during those late-night wakings and moments waiting in line. Still, Easter isn’t about perfection. It’s about resurrection. And every day is a chance to rise again.
What if we treated our time like sacred ground? What if we approached the empty spaces in our day with the belief that God could fill them with something better than distraction? What if, instead of reaching for our phones, we reached for him?
Easter isn’t about perfection. It’s about resurrection. And every day is a chance to rise again.
I’m not saying I’ll never scroll again. But I am saying that I want to live like my time belongs to God — because it does. I want to build a life where he has room to move. And I want to keep asking: What could he do with the time I don’t spend scrolling?
So this Easter, I’m not reinstalling the apps. I’m not picking up the old habits. I’m carrying the lessons of Lent into the season of joy. If I want God to work in my life, I need to give him room.