Stilling the Soul

I have a vivid imagination. I typically see in pictures, meaning when I read a headline that says something like “LA Fitness Exercisers Escape Fire,” I don’t just read the words— the whole scene unfolds in my mind — a fire, the sound of a fire truck rushing to the scene, people huddled together outside in workout clothes, a building engulfed in flames – you get the idea. 

My imagination has served me well most of my life. In my childhood, I would pretend to be one character or another from the books I was reading. I was swept away into the lives of Susan and Lucy, Laura Ingalls, Meg Murray, Anne with an e, and Nancy Drew. My surroundings disappeared and there I was, solving the mystery of Shadowy Ranch.

It came especially in handy when my kids were small and I needed to distract them from a small injury or discipline them creatively. If they were misbehaving in a store, I would say “I promise you, if you don’t stop that, I can embarrass you far more than you’re embarrassing me right now.” And I would think of something crazy to do right then and there. 

Last fall, Wayne kept seeing this fox who lived in our neighborhood. I never did. One day he came home from a morning walk and said “Saw the fox again!” I was so irritated. He went on to work and I, filled with jealousy, sat down on my patio and prayed, “Lord, Please let me see that fox.” But after sitting still for 20 or 30 minutes, no fox came. I mean, as powerful as God is, what was the statistical probability that he would answer my prayer by changing the natural instincts of a wild fox (and my low vision) to make said fox walk right in front of me? My prayer request began to feel silly and make me laugh. 

Then my imagination kicked in. I pictured the fox walking two feet in front of me. Waving hello. Dresssed in a tux and a top hat. It was so much fun that I imagined the fox with a trumpet. Had him play me a tune. Had him introduce his wife and children. I was well into imagining a whole fox musical on my patio when my daughter Emma interrupted me with a FaceTime call. 

I am so thankful for my imagination 95% of the time. It has helped me look at difficult life situations with a healthy dose of humor. It has helped me put myself in another’s shoes and imagine their life, keeping my own selfishness in check.. It has given me the ability to make up stories on the spot and enjoy dancing in the rain as if I were Ginger Rogers (when I actually looked more like a female  Steve Irkle)

But there’s a serious down side.  My imagination has also let my mind run wild with destructive thoughts that have increased my stress levels 100-fold. Throughout my life, I’ve created storylines that took me in the direction of anxiety, anger, and fear. I’ve imagined my children in awful wrecks if they were late getting home. I’ve created reasons and motivations for friends who seemed to be distancing themselves from me, even though I had no idea what might be really going on. I’ve cried or fretted over imagined situations that never came to pass. All because of  my mind’s ability to create its own narratives. All because my brain can so easily create “what ifs”  and “it’s becauses” instead of seeking out the truth. 

Have you ever had your thoughts take you on a road of twists and turns that had no concrete evidence in truth? Have you ever created whole storylines of your future instead of living the truth that is today?  

For me, 2020 was full of opportunities for my imagination to run amuck.  An all consuming pandemic transforming all my routines and well-laid plans. Infecting my family and friends. A divisive election leading me to boil with anger or shut down with anxiety over news that was largely outside my realm of control. There were many moments when I fast forwarded to the what if’s and felt a sense of powerlessness. Sometimes it was extra hard to rein in my imagination, take a deep breath (or two) and live mindfully in the moment.

But the fruit of 2020 was powerful. I learned to sit quietly on my patio or front porch when I realized that my own thoughts were taking me in a destructive direction. I learned to practice “taking captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” (2 Corinthians 10:5).  I learned to submit each thought to the test of truth.

 For example, I would have a thought like: “I have no value any more” (because I don’t work or contribute financially and I sometimes feel useless). I’d look at that thought, say it out loud and realize it was simply not true. Another thought would come: “God does not see or care about my struggles.” I would look at that thought. Really look at it. Ask myself was it true? Then I’d remember Hagar of the Old Testament, lost and running, who said, “you are the God who sees me.” (Genesis 16:13).

I remember me as a little girl of 7 or 8. Sitting on my yellow bike with a white banana-seat,  I was scared to invite friends over because of what my mother might say. I didn’t have any clue how to live with a schizophrenic mother. But God truly saw me, rescued and redeemed me. He gave me a beautiful life with a beautiful family despite the chaotic nature of my childhood. God saw me then, and he sees me now.

When I need to remember this, among disturbing news stories or painful days, when I worry that the world is spinning too fast for me to keep up with all its unsettling changes, I sit. I sit still, breathe deeply, and put the gift of my imagination to work

I imagine sitting in one of my favorite mountain spots, in the woods under a tree by a North Carolina river. It is still, with the rhythmic sound of the river spilling over the rocks. I feel the fall breeze across my face. I hear the birds singing and in the distance I hear the sounds of deer moving  through the fall leaves. Then I  hear the sound of someone’s feet walking on a nearby path. I look up to see who is there.  And there is the Lord Himself, strolling through his creation. 

He looks over, catches my eye and wanders towards me. There is no hurry in his step. He sits down beside me. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t give me a litany of answers. We just sit together and listen to the river. Somehow his presence is enough to quiet my racing thoughts. Enough to still my anxious soul. With him beside me, I realize that all is not lost. Panic is not necessary. I see that though the world is still full of sorrow and perplexities, it is not mine to control, and for that I am infinitely grateful. We sit a long time like this…just the two of us. My imagination has settled my mind, but more importantly, my imagination has collided with real truth.

 I find that I am no longer near a peaceful river created by my imagination, but again sitting on my own patio - calm, peaceful, and in the presence of my Savior. I remember one of my favorite Psalms, which puts my own power to control the events of life into perspective:  “My heart is not proud, Lord, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me. But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content (Psalm 131).

““Israel, put your hope in the Lord both now and forevermore.” Psalms‬ ‭131: 3‬ ‭ ‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬

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