My thoughts are my thoughts. They are my thoughts that I battle against. They swarm around my mind like bees around a flower—not every one is bad, not every one is evil, not every one is good, and not every one is a God thought. Discernment between these four categories is the hardest of all.
Folk dancing around my mind, some thoughts are complete, and others are fragmented, leading me two-steps one way, then two-steps another. How do I know which ones to give my time to during the very little time of the day when I am in complete silence? When I am still before myself, listening to the white noise of my mind, I battle them, fight them, and wrestle against them. The moment the bell rings, I am ready to fight, but sometimes they do not throw punches at all. They just stand there while I throw punches, defending themselves.
The times that I do overcome—getting a KO or perhaps landing a solid jab—are moments when I feel in control of certain scenarios and situations. When my thoughts run side by side with discernment, how do I truly let them go? Where do they go? Where do they fall after the punch lands? Do I put them in the recycle bin of my brain? Do I hang them out on the clothesline of my logic and reason? When I capture them and feel I have tamed the lion of my thoughts, are they ever truly gone?
Perhaps, for a moment, they are still, locked in a cage. But I am also locked in my mind, forever. I cannot escape my mind. My thoughts will always be my neighbor. They will remain, hidden in a place, waiting to be reopened when a certain situation, action, or thing crosses my path and brings them back to life. Then I am back in the ring, wrestling them again.
These are not bad thoughts. These are thoughts about what I must do. This is me thinking about my life. This is me thinking about the thoughts of my daily actions. This is me thinking about the actions that arise from my daily thoughts. This is my thoughts against my thoughts—how those thoughts produce other thoughts and form relationships with thoughts from previous timelines of thought history and the progression of my cognitive clarity - a relentless pursuit of clarity, morality, and purpose.
In my mind, swimming around like minnows in a jar, they are ready to be cast into the pond to fish for hidden treasures of bigger thoughts. How do I know when to cast? How do I know when to reel? How do I know if I am even fishing in the right area? Are the thoughts that come from my head from God, or are they from my evil desires? How do I discern between a good thought and a God thought?
When I place them before the Lord and feel peace toward them, that peace often wanes much like the moon's phases, where full clarity gives way to darkness, and back again. The peace fades. The faith fades. I am back to wrestling. Is the wrestling worth it? Are the bruises worth it? Would it be classified as overthinking if I plant my thoughts before the Lord, tending, watering, and caring for them until they are pruned by the hand of God, in His soil?
In my reality, these thoughts are ever-present, like gnats flying around a dog bowl left outside in the sun, like buzzers circling the summer skies for their next meal—impossible to completely ignore. They are the companions of my solitude, the echo of my existence, always there, urging me to reflect, to act, to grow.
Taking thoughts captive (2 Corinthians 10:5) invokes a sense of putting bad thoughts in the corner for timeout, but it also involves a rigorous process of examination against the truths of scripture, the guidance of the Holy Spirit, and the wisdom of Christian counsel. I have come to recognize within my thoughts, that even my good thoughts are not necessarily a God thought. A good thought can feel right, seem beneficial, meet all the checks and balances inside my mind, but still ultimately lead me astray if they do not align with God's plan in my life. They might serve immediate desires, less calculated risk and “downside”, or societal expectations but could also be in opposition to the deeper, eternal purposes God has.
This journey of thought—this wrestling with my mind—is not merely for self-improvement or mental clarity. It is an (inescapable) spiritual discipline, a way to ensure that my life aligns with His will. This is not just idle contemplation; this is a profound engagement, a meticulous self-examination of the thoughts that govern my daily actions, deeds, where I decide to put my time-spent, and larger vision of life. By taking every thought captive, I am not just cultivating my thought garden (or what I also call my Idea Garden where I place all neat and cool ideas and thoughts on a running list on my MacBook); I am shaping my battlefield of my mind to be fertile ground for God's will to be done. I strive to live not by my thoughts alone but through the sensitivity of his Spirit, the sensitivity that I am being obedient to my Creator — who knows all my thoughts, who knows what I hide in my heart (Psalm 139), who knows my secret intent, the one whom I can’t hide from. My thoughts will always be buzzing around in 360-degree sporadic motion, but it is my duty to discern them, and carefully select which ones unravel into an action of reflection of His will.
Chandler Santos
Folk dancing around my mind, some thoughts are complete, and others are fragmented, leading me two-steps one way, then two-steps another. How do I know which ones to give my time to during the very little time of the day when I am in complete silence? When I am still before myself, listening to the white noise of my mind, I battle them, fight them, and wrestle against them. The moment the bell rings, I am ready to fight, but sometimes they do not throw punches at all. They just stand there while I throw punches, defending themselves.
The times that I do overcome—getting a KO or perhaps landing a solid jab—are moments when I feel in control of certain scenarios and situations. When my thoughts run side by side with discernment, how do I truly let them go? Where do they go? Where do they fall after the punch lands? Do I put them in the recycle bin of my brain? Do I hang them out on the clothesline of my logic and reason? When I capture them and feel I have tamed the lion of my thoughts, are they ever truly gone?
Perhaps, for a moment, they are still, locked in a cage. But I am also locked in my mind, forever. I cannot escape my mind. My thoughts will always be my neighbor. They will remain, hidden in a place, waiting to be reopened when a certain situation, action, or thing crosses my path and brings them back to life. Then I am back in the ring, wrestling them again.
These are not bad thoughts. These are thoughts about what I must do. This is me thinking about my life. This is me thinking about the thoughts of my daily actions. This is me thinking about the actions that arise from my daily thoughts. This is my thoughts against my thoughts—how those thoughts produce other thoughts and form relationships with thoughts from previous timelines of thought history and the progression of my cognitive clarity - a relentless pursuit of clarity, morality, and purpose.
In my mind, swimming around like minnows in a jar, they are ready to be cast into the pond to fish for hidden treasures of bigger thoughts. How do I know when to cast? How do I know when to reel? How do I know if I am even fishing in the right area? Are the thoughts that come from my head from God, or are they from my evil desires? How do I discern between a good thought and a God thought?
When I place them before the Lord and feel peace toward them, that peace often wanes much like the moon's phases, where full clarity gives way to darkness, and back again. The peace fades. The faith fades. I am back to wrestling. Is the wrestling worth it? Are the bruises worth it? Would it be classified as overthinking if I plant my thoughts before the Lord, tending, watering, and caring for them until they are pruned by the hand of God, in His soil?
In my reality, these thoughts are ever-present, like gnats flying around a dog bowl left outside in the sun, like buzzers circling the summer skies for their next meal—impossible to completely ignore. They are the companions of my solitude, the echo of my existence, always there, urging me to reflect, to act, to grow.
Taking thoughts captive (2 Corinthians 10:5) invokes a sense of putting bad thoughts in the corner for timeout, but it also involves a rigorous process of examination against the truths of scripture, the guidance of the Holy Spirit, and the wisdom of Christian counsel. I have come to recognize within my thoughts, that even my good thoughts are not necessarily a God thought. A good thought can feel right, seem beneficial, meet all the checks and balances inside my mind, but still ultimately lead me astray if they do not align with God's plan in my life. They might serve immediate desires, less calculated risk and “downside”, or societal expectations but could also be in opposition to the deeper, eternal purposes God has.
This journey of thought—this wrestling with my mind—is not merely for self-improvement or mental clarity. It is an (inescapable) spiritual discipline, a way to ensure that my life aligns with His will. This is not just idle contemplation; this is a profound engagement, a meticulous self-examination of the thoughts that govern my daily actions, deeds, where I decide to put my time-spent, and larger vision of life. By taking every thought captive, I am not just cultivating my thought garden (or what I also call my Idea Garden where I place all neat and cool ideas and thoughts on a running list on my MacBook); I am shaping my battlefield of my mind to be fertile ground for God's will to be done. I strive to live not by my thoughts alone but through the sensitivity of his Spirit, the sensitivity that I am being obedient to my Creator — who knows all my thoughts, who knows what I hide in my heart (Psalm 139), who knows my secret intent, the one whom I can’t hide from. My thoughts will always be buzzing around in 360-degree sporadic motion, but it is my duty to discern them, and carefully select which ones unravel into an action of reflection of His will.
Chandler Santos