One of my earliest recollections in life was lying on the bed at night with my eyes fixed on the orange glow of the vacuum tube inside an old RCA radio. I would spend cold winter evenings gazing into the glass bulb, wondering how it could transform AM radio waves into a muffled, lo-fi song. If the signal coming from KOMA in Oklahoma had too much static I would fine tune the dial.  To this day, I travel back to this childhood memory every time that I hear The Doobie Brothers' Black Water, or You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet by Bachman-Turner Overdrive.

Unfortunately, this kind of wondering is a pastime of times past. Today, there's no need to sit and ponder anything. We have within fingertip reach, the answer to any question imaginable. Just enter AI mode on our smart phone and wait a couple seconds for Google to enrich our minds. But in the long run, what is this really doing to our brains? Are we unknowingly losing our sense of wonder?

Perhaps one of the greatest secrets of the Nebraska Sandhills is its ability to pull us from the mainstream and gently rest us in a pastoral setting which is lush for meditation. But electronic communication is invading deeper into the remote reaches of the hills each year. Introspective solitude, once cherished, now takes a back seat to our addiction to our device. No matter how much we wish to live by our own gut instinct, the smart phone always finds its way into our hand, jerking us back into mind-controlling cyberspace.

"He that lives according to nature will never be poor, but he that lives according to opinion will never be rich."

This quote sounds as if it were written by someone fed up with social media. Actually, it's the words of Epicurus, a Greek philosopher who lived twenty-three hundred years ago. Had he lived today, he would end this quote with ten exclamation marks and a thinking face emoji. Social media, for the first time in the history of mankind, makes it possible for everyone in the world to share their opinions with everyone else in the world. Whether you are the giver or receiver of these opinions, the hackles on the back of your neck are probably raised. We no longer need to wonder about the other person's political views, what they like and what they hate.  This phenomenon has created a cancel culture, where individuals live on isolated plateaus separated by hundreds of dividing lines.

I've been asked if the Sandhills are changing too. My answer is yes. First came the big-round baler, which took the place of hired hands and their families. Then, a few years ago, cell towers started popping up across the hills. Now, when I venture into the Sandhills for a day of fishing or hunting I have a custom of turning my phone off. It's handy for emergencies, but those are extremely rare where it's just nature and me. I've learned that in order to tune in to nature, I must first log off of the internet. Then I can breathe in some fresh air and start adjusting my inner dial to tune in to God's clear and gentle whispers. 

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