Pre-Script: I didn't write this. Andrew Peterson did, and I'm not sure I could've said it better anyway, so here you go, and enjoy.
I've noticed lately that a common refrain in my prayers is that God would untangle my mind. For as long as I can remember I've had this itch at the back of my brain that something just isn't right in there, and that that something has caused me a lot of problems. Aside from the fact that, from a theological standpoint, I'm broken and on the long road to holiness, my brain is and has always been a dysfunctional organ.
When I pray, my mind wanders almost immediately. I can start off praising God for His goodness and mercy and by the time that first sentence is through I'm already mentally zipping through the cereals in the cupboard, wondering which one I should eat today. For a long time I wrote my prayers down in a journal, not so much to keep a tally of which prayers God had answered, but so that I could try to wrestle my flighty thoughts to the ground and keep them from running away from me. But my hand cramps after a few pages of writing, and I've misplaced a couple of journals that were laden with deep, dark secrets. It horrifies me that those journals are somewhere out in America, being perused by some jerk who isn't decent enough to mail it to the address on the first page. (Can you tell it upsets me?) So I don't do that so much anymore.
I decided this past Easter to spend some serious time fasting, but after two days I just wimped out. The monks of old would have ridiculed me to no end and pelted me with cinctures, but it must be said that they didn't have a Ruby Tuesday's serving bison burgers right down the street. Call me crazy, but I think it would've been easier to do without corn meal and dirty water. It also doesn't hurt that my wife is a great cook. Just ask my waistline.
As a matter of discipline, I try to read a spiritually focused book after every novel, but with a few exceptions I've always been relieved when I'm finished with the God book and I can finally peruse my bookshelves for the next story that'll take me on some adventure. Why can't I long for the theological tomes the way I do for the next (and final) Harry Potter book? I read the bible almost every night with my sons, and it's always rich and meaningful, but after about a chapter I'm ready to move on. Don't get me wrong--I love scripture. That's exactly why it bothers me so much that it can feel like such a chore.
I don't like writing these things, because I'd rather portray myself as some beard-stroking, pipe smoking genius with barely enough time to write down all that's in his shining mind. If you function under any delusions that the guy who you hear singing his songs on your CD player is any smarter, better, or holier than you, think again. I'm not fishing for compliments, or hoping that anyone will coddle me for being down on myself. That's not what this is. I'm just appalled sometimes at how very, very fallen I am, even after years of encountering the maker of the world in very tangible ways. I take comfort in how pig-headed the apostles could be, even after years of eating, sleeping, walking with the Man Himself.
So Lord? Untangle my mind. Help me to see the logical end to my train of thought, that I might live in truth and not illusion. Help me to value time with others more than time with the next episode of Lost. Help me to fight tooth and nail against this culture of celebrity and wealth in a world where children are dying in the rubble of some terror blown city. Help me to recognize my attempts to deceive myself into believing that I can function without You. Help me to be who You want me to be, no matter how scary that is. Madame Guyon said that becoming more holy and drawing near to You was like water evaporating and rising to the clouds—it has only to let You do Your work. The impurities will fall away as I transform into who I am meant to be. Bring the good work you started in me to completion, and soon, because these days I can hardly bear to be myself.
So be it.
P.S. It feels a little weird posting something like this for public consumption, but I'm compelled to do so in the hopes that by telling you a little about my heart you'll learn something about your own. That's why I write songs, and it's why I post these journals, sometimes against my better judgment. Forgive me if my presumption is distasteful. Or boring.
When I pray, my mind wanders almost immediately. I can start off praising God for His goodness and mercy and by the time that first sentence is through I'm already mentally zipping through the cereals in the cupboard, wondering which one I should eat today. For a long time I wrote my prayers down in a journal, not so much to keep a tally of which prayers God had answered, but so that I could try to wrestle my flighty thoughts to the ground and keep them from running away from me. But my hand cramps after a few pages of writing, and I've misplaced a couple of journals that were laden with deep, dark secrets. It horrifies me that those journals are somewhere out in America, being perused by some jerk who isn't decent enough to mail it to the address on the first page. (Can you tell it upsets me?) So I don't do that so much anymore.
I decided this past Easter to spend some serious time fasting, but after two days I just wimped out. The monks of old would have ridiculed me to no end and pelted me with cinctures, but it must be said that they didn't have a Ruby Tuesday's serving bison burgers right down the street. Call me crazy, but I think it would've been easier to do without corn meal and dirty water. It also doesn't hurt that my wife is a great cook. Just ask my waistline.
As a matter of discipline, I try to read a spiritually focused book after every novel, but with a few exceptions I've always been relieved when I'm finished with the God book and I can finally peruse my bookshelves for the next story that'll take me on some adventure. Why can't I long for the theological tomes the way I do for the next (and final) Harry Potter book? I read the bible almost every night with my sons, and it's always rich and meaningful, but after about a chapter I'm ready to move on. Don't get me wrong--I love scripture. That's exactly why it bothers me so much that it can feel like such a chore.
I don't like writing these things, because I'd rather portray myself as some beard-stroking, pipe smoking genius with barely enough time to write down all that's in his shining mind. If you function under any delusions that the guy who you hear singing his songs on your CD player is any smarter, better, or holier than you, think again. I'm not fishing for compliments, or hoping that anyone will coddle me for being down on myself. That's not what this is. I'm just appalled sometimes at how very, very fallen I am, even after years of encountering the maker of the world in very tangible ways. I take comfort in how pig-headed the apostles could be, even after years of eating, sleeping, walking with the Man Himself.
So Lord? Untangle my mind. Help me to see the logical end to my train of thought, that I might live in truth and not illusion. Help me to value time with others more than time with the next episode of Lost. Help me to fight tooth and nail against this culture of celebrity and wealth in a world where children are dying in the rubble of some terror blown city. Help me to recognize my attempts to deceive myself into believing that I can function without You. Help me to be who You want me to be, no matter how scary that is. Madame Guyon said that becoming more holy and drawing near to You was like water evaporating and rising to the clouds—it has only to let You do Your work. The impurities will fall away as I transform into who I am meant to be. Bring the good work you started in me to completion, and soon, because these days I can hardly bear to be myself.
So be it.
P.S. It feels a little weird posting something like this for public consumption, but I'm compelled to do so in the hopes that by telling you a little about my heart you'll learn something about your own. That's why I write songs, and it's why I post these journals, sometimes against my better judgment. Forgive me if my presumption is distasteful. Or boring.
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Post-Script: I'm a big, big Andrew Peterson fan. He's a great musician, writer, and person. Buy all his music, or browse his other journal entries at www.andrew-peterson.com/journals .
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