I have to be the world's biggest Overthinker.
No, really. I'm sure if we had an election for the most qualified Overthinker, I would win absolute majority.
^Huge RETWEET.
Fortunately, this is not an occupation, nor is there an election held for it. But (there's always a but, isn't there?) considering how many hours I've clocked in, you'd think it was my full-time job.
Hopefully I'm not the only one guilty of this. If I am, I am shamelessly jealous of you. Like, seriously. Teach me your ways.
My mind has a mouth of its own. Though its voice is inaudible, the volume of its words is impossible to turn down. You'll notice I personify this voice as "the Whisperer." I wish I could pay the Whisperer to take a leave of absence...
Here's how it started:
Awhile back, one of my friends questioned the character of my (at the time) significant other. To this I said the usual:
"He's being loyal."
to which she responded, "How do you know he's being loyal? I wish I knew my bf was being loyal."
"That's the thing. I don't know. I can't know. But I trust."
"How can you trust someone who can't even see you?"
Yikes.
I thought I had all the answers, but no self-written narrative could have predicted THAT as her response. I didn't see that coming.
My mind started a one-woman relay race. It stopped to grab Baton #1.
Baton #1 had a voice of its own too, and began to say "He has an eye for girls. He can't resist when they feed his ego and make it easy."
After running away with Baton #1, a video played on the track's mega screen: him checking out a really attractive, flirty girl with clear skin. UGH. The clear skin. Of course. My mind kept running around the track. Eyes on the prize. What prize?
I stopped running.
There is no prize.
My feelings subsided, and I began to think rationally again. That was until Baton #2 was passed to me.
Baton #2: "He used the word "ghosted" to describe the turnout of the girl before you. In case you need a refresher, he's ghosted you all summer. You always text first. He never checks up on you. Clearly he's ghosting you."
UGH. See what I mean by inaudible volume???
Then Baton#3 piped up: "You're chasing him. He's probably chasing another girl the same way he chased you. He's probably talking to a different girl with clearer skin, better curves, and prettier hair."
At this point, I was sprinting in a hopeless attempt to get away from the noise. The noise that went with me, because it was my mind.
Seriously Mind, MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. I've already struggled enough with minding my own feelings!
I didn't even want to know what Baton #4 was carrying in its voicebox. So I dropped out of the race. And this is how I know I run my own mind.
"And this is how I know I run my own mind."
I'm convinced that Paul was writing to a crazy, 19-year-old college girl from a Midwest metro when he wrote "Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable- if ANYTHING is EXCELLENT or PRAISEWORTHY- think about such things."
That last part of the sentence wasn't a suggestion. It was a direct order from above: THINK about such things.
It's your dad ending the squabble over who does the dishes by saying, "I'm not asking you, I'm TELLING you."
Yah. Now you catch my drift? Thought so.
Was the thought of him texting and talking to a different girl true? I have no clue. I'm not there, so I can't know for sure. Was it noble? No. Was it right? Depends on the context, so we'll count that as a no. Was it pure? ABSOLUTELY F'ING NOT. Was it lovely? No ma'am. Was it admirable? NO!
And most importantly, it was definitely not excellent or praiseworthy.
The more I live with my Bible closed, the more susceptible I am to the enemy's attacks.
The enemy does not want me to feel secure. He'd much rather see me hangout with the Whisperer- close friend to the Batons. He wants me exposed, vulnerable, and ready to manipulate.
The more I worry and overthink, the brighter my red toro flag shines to this blood-thirsty bull. This kill-happy monster feeds on insecurities, pain, and comparison. They are nutrition to his rotten bones.
Phillippians 4:8 is my comeback to overthinking. It is the quick spin of my flag in front of the bull. It is my withdrawal from the race. And I believe it can be yours too.
All the peace,
AK.