My processing always seems to happen through my fingers.
Typing away, I try to make sense of the
thoughts, doubts and fears
that creep back in after a night’s sleep. Somehow, if my phalanges are moving as fast as the arguments in my skull, I feel like I have a fighting chance of wrestling them to the ground, of calling them out and addressing them head on.
They are tricky, though, these ideas and worries. They move in various ways, and as soon as I figure out one, another begins wiggling to life in a completely new pattern.
This seems like an unfair advantage, them against me and my flying fingers.
Take, for example, my doubts. They present like little clouds of nausea in my mind. Not intense, but sickeningly dull and present. If only my brain could just puke them out and feel better. Type, type, type.
Or, what about my creative ideas? They come in like tiny bursts of light, exciting at first, but then grow to become neon beacons that blind me to seeing anything else. Why can’t I find the dimmer switch? Type, type, type.
And then there are my fears. They are the least subtle of all. They crash in like the proverbial bull in a china closet. They take over the room and break everything in their way. Every other thought in my mind seems to cower in the presence of their growling and sharp teeth baring. Type, type, type, type, type!
Many times these three also bring friends – busyness, laziness and distraction. Though not as devious, they make finding my way to this desk a sort of maze to navigate through. And type some more.
These are the culprits that wake me each morning, doing their best to steer me off course. To make mush of my grey matter.
To prevent me from sitting here in this tractor seat, doing what I sense God is asking of me.
My quick fingers get weary from this DAILY uphill battle against these foes.
Ten little digits are not enough on their own.
But what these enemies of progress don’t know, and what I too often forget, is that there are other invisible forces in my mind. Forces much greater than my furiously typing hands.
These forces have beautiful names:
Inspiration.
Hope.
Contentment.
Peace.
They float in, around and over everything else that occupies my mind. They are soft and quiet and gentle. Unobtrusive.
So unobtrusive that they are easy to miss if I don’t listen carefully and pay close attention.
But if I stop long enough to tune out the garbled noise of the perpetrators of my mind,
these agents of mercy
whisper serenity,
lull the monsters to sleep,
breathe life into me.
They are God’s gifts that miraculously enter the loud and crowded space that is my brain and, if I allow, calm it.
They come through Scripture,
music,
sweet conversations with Jesus.
Their truth silences the vociferous lies of fear and doubt. Their poignancy quiets the mindless chatter of distractions. And, thankfully, their purpose focuses even the glaring light of creativity.
My mind returns to a place of rest.
My flying fingers slow to a relaxed rhythm.
Another morning has begun.
Another morning battle won….
John 14:27 – I am leaving you with a gift–peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid.
Isaiah 26:3 – You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.
Matthew 11:28 – Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”
