My love affair with social networking began innocently in 2003 when I started blogging on Xanga to keep up with the small group of junior high girls I led. Facebook wasn’t even an option for me—back in those days, you had to be a college student to have a Facebook account.

But I discovered that I was an early adopter in all things tech. In 2006, when Facebook opened its digital doorway to the entire world, I eagerly signed up, connecting with the couple hundred friends whose email addresses I had stored away. I got into my first poke war. And if I remember correctly, I won.

Later that year, I had an article published on women and porn addiction that drove a large amount of traffic to my blog. On my blog, I had a link to my Facebook account, and soon, the requests began pouring in. Before you could throw a sheep at me, thousands of people and I became friends.

I won’t lie. The attention fed my ego. Attention that, as an introvert, I probably would have never discovered any other way.

And this instant group of friends came with something every aspiring author desires—a built-in platform.

As I began to work on my book Mad Church Disease: Overcoming the Burnout Epidemic, I utilized Facebook as a marketing tool. I won’t discount any of the meaningful conversations that occurred in spite of my ruthless marketing, but my main focus on Facebook was to spread my message.

Facebook reports that its 200 million users worldwide are logging in collectively for 3.5 billion Facebook minutes per day. For the first couple of years I was on Facebook, I was contributing more than my fair share of those minutes. And why not? It was doing exactly what I needed it to do—finding other leaders in ministry and connecting them with a message I was very passionate about. I was able to set up events for conferences or churches I was speaking at to help spread the word even more. And when I wasn't marketing, it was fun to see how the football player I pined over in ninth grade was now balding with three kids.

Except for my husband suggesting (kindly and quietly) that I was becoming a little obsessed with my online persona, I didn’t think twice about my Facebook behavior. After all, it was ministry.

It was all for God, right?

Mad Church Disease released in February 2009. Following its release was a two-week speaking tour at several conferences. Because my time was consumed by speaking or interacting with other leaders, I didn’t have time to log in as much as normal. After the two weeks were over, I found that a small part of my brain had relaxed. I remember sitting in the back row on my flight home, curled up next to the window, writing in my journal. I was reflecting on the past few days and how, without the overload of information from my online habits, I felt as if I could hear the voice of God a little more clearly.

My online behavior changed a little bit. I didn’t log in quite so much. I began leaving my computer in my office a few nights a week. Although I was still plenty plugged in, I began craving the freedom being unplugged brought me.

As the Lenten season approached, I prayerfully asked God if there was anything I should set aside. He gently showed me how I had allowed social media to become my only conduit to Him, instead of simplicity and rest. I decided to give up blogging, Facebook, and Twitter for the six weeks leading up to Easter.

From the outside looking in, this wasn’t a smart move for a rookie author. I talked to my marketing manager at Zondervan and let him know what I was considering, begging him not to hate me. He saw the purpose of my fast and stood behind my decision. Until this point in time, I had full, strategic control over when I would offer promotions or giveaways or publicize the book. I was nervous that by giving up my online voice, my book sales would plummet, my publisher would drop me, and I’d be destined to live a life of mediocrity.

(Did I mention I have control issues? I have control issues.)

Photo: Chris Jackson

For the first few days of Lent, I felt completely out of sorts. I had no idea what was going on with anybody. But as time went by, my husband and I found ourselves having more conversations over dinner tables with our friends than we had in a very long time.

Lent came to an end and I didn’t quite feel ready to return. Part of me felt a little obligated—after all, I had books to sell and ministry to accomplish. But every day I found myself pulling away more and more.

But old habits die hard. As soon as the ego began feeling a little neglected, I turned up the intensity of my interaction online. This, paired with my full time job, speaking several times a month, working on a second book, and trying to be a wife (even to a very patient husband) began wearing me down. My boundaries fell apart, and so did I.

One recent Sunday after church, my husband and I sat down over tortellini at a local Italian market and made very specific guidelines for my time—both online and off. Being a naturally abstract person, I needed the structure to help me find a balance in how I was serving others as well as taking care of myself. The new boundaries proved effective. My stress level went down tremendously. I spent more time in Scripture. I spent more time reading books by the spiritual giants of centuries ago, seeking timeless wisdom for a modern, technology-centered culture.

I toyed with the idea of completely closing down my Facebook account for a couple of weeks. For me, it wasn’t a life-giving place. It was draining, and, again, I was only using it as a marketing platform, with little relational interaction. With over 2500 friends, I couldn’t keep up with every event, every invitation, or every message that would come my way. I never once felt convinced that shutting it down was wrong. In fact, I tried every reason to justify keeping it open. Yet none of them stuck.

On Sunday, May 24, I pulled the plug on Facebook and announced it on my blog. The decision got mixed reviews. Most people understood the reasoning behind it, but there was no lack of people who felt (at times strongly) that I had made a huge mistake. And honestly, as much as the criticism hurt and I felt the need to defend myself, I know I made the right move for myself and, ultimately, my relationship with God and with others.

Do I think that Facebook (or any other form of social networking) is the bane of online humanity? No way. I’ve been blogging for over five years and Tweeting for two. I don’t plan on abandoning either of those outlets. Interaction with people on those two mediums is easy, and much more conversational than my Facebook habits were. All of these platforms are simply communication tools. There are churches and pastors and moms and college students and artists using any combination of these methods well. With them, we can connect with people in our communities and in our churches to inform them of local events or to rally around those who may need prayer or support.

But for me, Facebook was a problem. I don’t believe everyone should quit using Facebook, or be afraid of it if one hasn’t started. We just need to be aware of the ways any form of media can interrupt our time with God or those closest to us.

The ultimate question, for the social media world as for every other world, is this: Is how I’m spending my time bringing glory to God? When the online world becomes our only source of communication or inspiration, it may be time to take a little breather and log off.

If you do, I can guarantee you two things. You'll feel refreshed and renewed. And the poke wars, friend requests, and Tweets will be waiting for you when you return.

Anne Jackson is an author, speaker, and transformational activist who lives in the Nashville area with her husband, Chris. Her highly-anticipated book, Mad Church Disease: Overcoming the Burnout Epidemic (Zondervan) released in February 2009. You can read more about Anne at her blog, FlowerDust.net.