Whether we know it or not, we are living with a playlist. Caused by schedule overload and multiple distractions, the playlist sounds like this: You have to do everything. You have to say "yes" to everything. You are supposed to be in all places at all times . Jesus gives us a different playlist. It says: You are supposed to do two things: love God and love your neighbor. Saying no is often the best yes. You can only be one place at a time . This book addresses the anxiety, distraction addiction, and schedule overload that result from listening to the world's playlist and gives us permission to hear and live by Jesus' words. Additional components for a six-week study include a DVD featuring author and pastor Jacob Armstrong, a comprehensive Leader Guide, and a guide to small groups titled The Connected Life: Small Groups that Create Community . Jacob Armstrong is the founding pastor of Providence Church in Mt. Juliet, Tennessee. Providence's vision is to see those who are disconnected from God and the church to find hope, healing, and wholeness in Jesus Christ. Jacob is the author of Renovate, A New Playlist, Treasure, The God Story , Upside Down , Loving Large , Interruptions , and The New Adapters . A New Playlist Hearing Jesus In A Noisy World By Jacob Armstrong Abingdon Press Copyright © 2018 Abingdon Press All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-5018-4347-1 Contents Introduction, 1. Let in the Light, 2. Who Is Your Master?, 3. Do Not Be Afraid, 4. Rule Followers, Rule Breakers, 5. The Right Words, 6. The Power of Connection, Notes, Acknowledgments, CHAPTER 1 LET IN THE LIGHT My mom had me stand on the far side of the kitchen. She stood all the way on the other side of the living room. From twenty feet away she held a page of advertisements from the Sunday newspaper. "What does this say?" Mom asked. "Can you read this?" I was caught. The jig was up. Mom now knew what I had known for some time. My inability to read aloud a Sears buy-one-get-one-free sale revealed a simple truth that would be a game-changer for third-grade me. I could no longer see clearly. I needed glasses. In my small hometown, the optometrist's office of Dr. Loyd Baker was in one of the oldest buildings in town. When we arrived, Dr. Baker took me into a little office in the back. With the lights off and illuminated letters on a back wall, he told me I was nearsighted and taught me the meaning of the term. (I know, you're saying, "I thought this book was about what I should hear, not what I can see." Just hang in. I'm getting there.) After my eye examination, Dr. Baker brought me into his showroom of glasses frames. There were maybe ten to choose from but only two in children's sizes. The first pair, which he called a "Disney Special," had Mickey Mouse ears on the sides. I would risk certain death if I wore those on the Gladeville Elementary School playground. The second and only other pair available was made of a solid plastic that weighed more than most third-graders can lift. They were large. They were brown, the color of mud or something worse. They were ugly. I took a deep breath and pointed at the mud-colored spectacles. "I'll take those." Two weeks later my glasses came in and I could see! I felt like a new person. That morning I was able to make out the dew on the grass and the clouds floating across the sky. I knew my new look wasn't great, but I was excited and hopeful about the day. I had been on the school bus five minutes when I heard the first cry of "Four-eyes!" Yep, the name-callers of Bus 129 were no more clever than that — the old "Four-eyes." Still, it stung. I tried to stay strong, but as they came up with even more creative names for me and my new brownish glasses, tears began to form in the corners of my eyes. I'm sure now there were only a few insults, but they bounced around in my mind until they lodged in my heart. The bus arrived at school, and I rushed to my desk in the front row of Ms. Settler's class. I had been given this special seat because of my inability to read the blackboard. Right before class started, I saw my teacher make her way toward my desk. I dropped my head. I didn't want to talk to anyone, much less my teacher. I wanted the day to be over. I wanted to bury my head in my mom's embrace and tell her about the cruelty of elementary school. I imagined walking into my house and throwing the glasses across the room. Ms. Settler approached, put her hand on my shoulder, and, in a voice that still echoes inside me, said two words that changed third grade forever. "Cool glasses." Cool glasses. That's what my ears heard. That's what my brain decoded. Sure, I was only eight years old, but for some reason ... I believed those words. I believed Ms. Settler. I believed she was right. I believed she told the truth. I had to choose that day whom I would listen to, what message I would believe, and how the words would shape the way I was going to live. And third-grade