You know the saying, “Oh, she has a mind of her own.” This is rarely said as a compliment, but rather it means someone has a streak of strong will or determination to do things her own way. I know this because I have said it about all three of my daughters {particularly the youngest one} many times.
Just last week we were on vacation. One evening we went to the beach around sunset for some pictures, and I gave these explicit instructions: “Don’t get in the ocean since you’ve already had a shower.” So here is the youngest one, her dress half-soaked, explaining why she needs to stand in the ocean.
Similarly, I’m afraid my mind has a mind of its own. Basically it does not do that which I want it—or will it— to do.
For example, I don’t want to be a worrier. But I’m the type of person who can imagine all manner of worst-case scenarios. And never am I more creative than when I’m doing this. One afternoon last week I left the girls with my husband and mom at the pool while I went on a walk. A few minutes into my walk I heard a siren in the distance and almost immediately wondered if it might be a first responder racing to an incident at the pool. Of course it’s a well-populated island and there were no less than a thousand other reasons for a fire truck to be called up, but my mind naturally fixates on the most worrisome possibility.
I do this in many other situations and with different triggers. If I’m trying to reach one of my people and they don’t text or call back within a reasonable amount of time, I naturally assume they’ve been kidnapped… or worse. Some of us may be better at it, or more creative with the scenarios we concoct, but I don’t think I’m the only one struggling with these sorts of anxious mind games.
As my girls get older and their growth gradually merits more freedom and independence, I realize I’m on pace to be chronically nervous. And that’s no way to live. None of us wants to worry.
There is a familiar verse that keeps wandering into my busy mind lately.
Take captive every thought and make it obedient to Christ.
— 2 Corinthians 10:5
As I was walking Rosie, our strong-willed dog, one evening this week I was thinking about that verse and how the verbs in it might be the key.
It doesn’t say “numb every thought” with alcohol or the drug of your choice.
It doesn’t say “crush every thought” with force or willpower.
It doesn’t say “never have those thoughts” as if we can control their origin.
Instead the counsel seems to be to take the thoughts we have that are out of line with God’s will for us, harness them, and force them into submission.
Identify.
Apprehend.
Make obedient.
You cannot keep the birds from flying over your head, but you can keep them from building a nest in your hair. — Martin Luther
But how? I too often think of the Bible as a series of commands. So I instinctively want to hone in on the “take captive” part of this passage. It’s an action step and a clear command. But if you and I can both view Scripture more as a love story about who God is and who we can become in Him, the real key here might be in the verse before the one above.
We use God’s mighty weapons, not mere worldly weapons, to knock down the Devil’s strongholds.
— 2 Corinthians 10:4 (NLT)
Worry is a stronghold. Anxiety is a stronghold. Addiction is a stronghold. Greed and fear and bitterness and envy are strongholds. And if we’re being honest, we’re fairly powerless against all of these battles. Only God’s weapons, particularly the Holy Spirit, are powerful and effective when it comes to matters of the mind and heart.
We all know — we can’t stop thoughts from coming to mind. But I think this verse gives us hope that we can prevent them from taking up residence in nests by telling them where to go when they do. With the Spirit’s help {which I have to remember is not synonymous with good things like podcasts, self-help books, or willpower}, we can harness them. And then redirect them… toward thoughts that are life-giving and true.
Rosie got a chance to experience the beach for the first time last week. You can imagine her excitement about the breeze, the ocean, the seagulls, and the other beachgoers. It was a total sensory overload. And she had a lot to say about it.
Even more spirited than my youngest one, Rosie acts a lot like the thoughts that roll around in my mind. Hyper and a bit unruly. Definitely stubborn and attention-seeking. Sometimes she takes off sprinting and whoever is holding her leash looks like a kite on a string trailing above and behind her. But like a wild thought, most of the time she can be harnessed and redirected. Made to sit and relax and soak up the scenery.
Something about that picture gives me hope that my mind—our minds—can be reigned in, too.
None of us want to miss a beautiful beach sunset.
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