“I’m so bored I could scream. This is absolutely the longest, most miserable evening I can remember,” my wife fretted, wringing her hands and pacing back and forth from the living room to the kitchen. Our television set had been officially pronounced dead by the repairman at 1:20 that Tuesday afternoon.

Our four-year-old son first noticed the oncoming catastrophe Saturday morning when the cartoons he was watching began to brighten and dim. Sunday it was worse, and by midday Monday there was no picture at all, only sound.

The set had served us well for three years. An aunt had given it to us when she bought a new color set for herself. In the succeeding three years we were socked with only one repair bill which came to a measly $19.80, including tax. We hoped we would get by as cheaply this time.

The repairman arrived just as we were finishing lunch dishes on Tuesday. With bated breath we awaited his diagnosis, hoping for the best and consoling ourselves that we had only $19.80 invested, should the Old Familiar Friend be beyond repair.

The repairman slowly put away his tools and tube tester (he charged by the hour), pushed the set back against the wall, stretched his shoulders and in a most unfeeling way told us the worst. “Everything else looks O.K. Must be the picture tube. Unless this old cabinet is worth at least 75 bucks to you, I would advise you to junk it.”

Whether we thought it worth $75.00 or not, repairing the set was out of the question. We didn’t have the money, and on our tight budget we would not have it for some time.

It was miserably boring and lonesome that first Tuesday evening. By 8 o‘clock we had hopped into the car for the 25–mile trip to mother’s house. When we arrived at 8:30, we were greeted by my teenage brother, “Shhh. Quiet. Sit down; you’re disturbing my program.”

Wednesday night we went to prayer meeting, but the house seemed awfully empty and quiet after we returned home.

You just don’t realize how addicted to that electronic marvel you can get! Lots of nights I had lain down on the couch in front of the tube as early as 6 p.m. and stayed there until Daily Prayer at 1 a.m., getting up only for an occasional morsel of food during station breaks. Much more often I had tuned in to watch just one special program at 7 or 8, only to keep watching whatever happened to come on until the 11 o’clock news.

But we hadn’t always had television. What had we done before auntie gave us the wondrous gift? I never remembered being this lost for something to do before.

It’s been several weeks now, and at this writing our television is still shrouded in darkness. We could have afforded to have it fixed by now, or even have gotten a new color set on credit. But right now we are having too much fun without it.

For instance, we are using the big front porch at our house. It had been a long time since we spent a summer evening sitting there in a lawn chair, talking with the neighbors who pass ·and contemplating the cloud patterns in the sky.

It had been too long since I lingered an hour after sunset to witness the birth of a summer evening, heralded by the stereo refrain of crickets and harmonizing katydids; since I caught a glimpse of the little brown bat interrupting the moths which gather about the street light; since I smelled the aroma of the night as the dew falls; since I felt the awe of standing under God’s majestic Milky Way.

We spent most of our summer evenings that way when I was a kid. I had almost forgotten what it was like. I had also forgotten how much fun it is to spend an evening cracking walnuts and mixing them into a batch of buttery homemade fudge.

My wife and I are getting reacquainted. Before the tube blew, most of our conversation had been during commercials. I would have been living with a stranger in another couple of years.

we are also relearning the pleasurable art of reading. I’m averaging about one book a week now. And would you believe that both my wife and I have practically read the New Testament through since the repairman pronounced Old One–Eye dead?

Our conscience had forced us to try having a daily Bible reading before, but it was usually a random psalm. Last night we read the entire book of I Corinthians—read some of it twice. We had an interesting discussion too, just my wife and I.

Family devotions aren’t as hurried now either, and they are a lot more regular. We have found time actually to worship God together in our home. I have also noticed that a certain four-year–old boy sings more of his Sunday school songs and fewer TV jingles lately.

We had subscribed to a couple of church magazines, really out of loyalty more than anything else. Now we are reading them and wondering why we seldom took the time to do so before. They are terrific.

Television was never this good. But one day I know we will probably get another one. And if we are not very, very careful, it will become a dictator in our home again. I really hope not, and: Dear God, if You see our new set getting the upper hand, please, blow our tube, before it blows our minds.

J. Stephen Conn is a free–lance writer at 727 Hickory Oak Hollow, Augusta, Georgia.

His article is reprinted by permission from The Presbyterian Journal of January 28, 1981 (Asheville. N.C. 28802).