Outside, a winter storm’s moved in. Rain sounds, tink-tink-tink like frozen bullets against the window. The wind, it howls, whips ’round corners, tossing branches, and inside…
In my quiet house, the Christmas lights, they glow. Atop the tree, the star shines golden, throws shadows on the ceiling, and on the counter, a Christmas candle burns.
I’m curled up in my favorite spot, fresh coffee in my favorite mug, and I’m talking to my favorite Dad, all big and strong and kind. For there’s a storm today in my heart and mind that matches the storm outside. And so I say it. “What do I do? What do You want me to know when this flood comes in and threatens to drown?”
His voice, when it comes, is kind, no shaming. “You’re imagining things that haven’t happened yet. You’re picturing yourself, putting yourself in places I may never ask you to be. And if I do, I will surely go with you and help you to bear it, to do it.”
The old, wooden clock, it’s ticking. The lamp beside me, it’s glowing, and Father’s still, loving voice, it’s calming.
Lifting mug to lips, inhaling the aroma, I remember what He said one day in summer’s sun. Running along in morning’s light, He’d said it plain and straight. “When you go to worst-case scenarios, it is an unsanctified use of your imagination. You are going where I am not. Why don’t you use your imagination to picture how I might be working and moving, what I might be doing? To see My hand at work instead of seeing fear, and disaster?”
Ah, yes. It was imagination unsanctified that often brought trouble. Brought worry, anxiety and fear. Like naughty, undisciplined children left to themselves, it was my thoughts running unchecked that opened the door. That led down wrong roads, that explored unseen paths and snap! A flash flood that came sweeping.
“Casting down imaginations and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ (2 Cor. 10:5, KJV).”
On this winter morning, the verse I’d memorized as a child comes stealing back. Father’s placed the tool in my hand, and He’s telling me how to use it.
“When those thoughts come, you say, ‘I will not be afraid of that. It hasn’t even happened, and if it ever does, I know that You will help me.’ Then start thanking Me for what You already know is true, for what you know I’m doing.”
Today, I’m asking my Dad to take control of my wild, vivid, colorful imagination. I believe that He’s given it to me, but I believe He’d like to have it, to sanctify it. Make it holy, pure and a tool of life; for life.
He’d like to sanctify yours as well. Don’t go where He’s not going. Don’t take on fear of what’s not happened. Instead, say “thank You” for all that He’s doing, and for all that He will do. It’ll bring life and strength and health to your bones.