I used to pray, "Lord, keep my mind on you this morning, and on your word." while driving to church on Sundays Our pastor's sermons always touched my heart and soul, but my mind often drifted into a realm where stories, ideas, thoughts, and images dwelt. Guilt rushed in whenever I realized that either I was no longer singing the lyrics of the song everyone else was singing, or else I hadn't heard the past few minutes of the sermon. "Concentrate, girl, concentrate" I would reprimand myself, then refocus on worshiping or listening.
My mind still tends to wander, but I no longer feel guilty about it. Why? Because it is during these mind-wandering moments I have often heard God the loudest--not loud in decibels, but loud in clarity. Let me illustrate. Just weeks after my family discovered what my husband had been doing, we were all at a son's church for worship. It was the first time we had worshiped together since the discovery. Family sat on both sides of me and in the seats behind. Although a heartbroken group, we were a united family group coming before the Lord to praise and pray.
The singing began. Since I didn't know most of the songs, I just read the words from the power-point presentation and clapped to the rhythm of the music. During this mindless exercise, the song You Never Let Go, written by Matt and Beth Redman grabbed me. The song talked of the storms of life and the fears they bring. It talked about my God being with me through it all, of his never letting go, of my never having to fear.
Then came the chorus along with my mind-wandering images. As I tried singing this unknown song, my mind wandered to a place where I no longer sang the words because I was both imagining and feeling a terrible storm. As waves crashed down on me, I flailed wildly, trying to stay above the water. I had been thrown into an uncontrollable, raging, maelstrom. I knew my hands and arms were wet, cold and slippery, unable to grasp anything. I would drown. Then I realized God had reached down, grabbed me by the wrist in such a tight hold I could never slip away, and he would never let them (me) go. I imagined my hands and arms as cold and weak, and my mind as confused. In contrast, the real tears flowing down my cheeks were warm, yet comforting. "Oh, no, You never let go, You never let go of me" sang the congregation; and I joined in, my arms lifted up, held in God's grasp while the raging storm unsuccessfully fought against him. Although my mind had wandered, God hadn't. He had spoken.
Over the passing months I sang this song often, and my mind wandered in return. Each time, God reminded me that his mighty arms were reaching down, holding mine, keeping me from slipping away, and, at the same time, calming me. Thankfully, my mind began returning more easily toward heaven with praise and thanksgiving.
One evening during a Celebrate Recovery Group for grief and loss I realized something had changed. When did it happened? I don't know, but it had. I was singing You Never Let Go with our group and my mind, as usual, wandered off to find my storm. But it was different this time. I no longer found myself held by my hand and wrist in God's strong grip. Raging waves no longer clawed at me. Instead, I was enfolded in his arms, clasped to his breast, and being consoled and comforted. No longer wet, cold and slippery, I was now warm, dry and at peace. My Lord had spoken anew in the midst of my mind's wandering.
The last time I remember singing this song, the image had again changed. This time I was unsteadily walking a path. Unsteady? Yes-- but not alone. God again had me by the hand, occasionally letting go, but always there to catch me, to help me regain my balance, or to steady me.
As I noted several times in this jotting, my mind tends to wander during worship and sermons. I am not encouraging wandering minds. I still need to take many thoughts captive, but quite often, as in the story just told, I get a song within a song or a sermon within a sermon. Now, I love discerning and discovering how the Spirit will use my mind-wanderings to either stir or speak to my soul.
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