Flatlander Faith

Apologetics from an Anabaptist perspective

Tag Archives: thoughts

MIND BOGGLING

Your brain has 86 billion neurons. Each neuron is linked to 10,000 others and they signal each other once every second.

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay 

Now memorize those facts, you may need them some day in a game of Trivial Pursuit. Apart from that, I can’t think what useful purpose there may be in knowing about all the scintillating activity going on in your personal upstairs.

The numbers are amazing, but the physical facts bring us no closer to answers for the metaphysical questions. What is life? What is consciousness? What are thoughts? Who am I? What happens to my thoughts when I die?

The Bible teaches that each of us is something else, something more, than a physical body. The apostle Paul speaks of being absent from the body and present with the Lord. Peter speaks of his body as a tabernacle, or tent, which he expected shortly to put off.

I am content to take those statements as trustworthy grounds for believing that the essence of a person lives on after he dies. I dare not go beyond that into metaphysical speculations. The Bible also tells us that some day, after our body has decayed into its primary elements, we will be reunited with our body. And it will be the same body – yet not the same. These mysteries are beyond the capacity of our physical minds, they can only be grasped by faith. And what is faith? Another mystery, yet something that is real and life-changing.

Suicide is a spirit

One night, somewhere in Canada, a young indigenous woman found herself battling thoughts of suicide. She was a Christian, she knew that was not what she wanted to do, yet the thought kept coming to her that it would be so easy to escape from her troubles. All she needed to do was walk out to the kitchen, take the big sharp knife and put an end to her days. She would pray and read the Bible yet soon she found herself walking toward the kitchen; she would stop and turn around and pray some more. She knew that those thoughts were coming from a spirit, a spirit that was more powerful than she was and wouldn’t leave her alone. She prayed that God would come to her help, yet the thought of going out to the kitchen and picking up that knife kept coming to her. She read in her Bible and found a passage in Psalms that seemed to be an answer for her, but the thought of suicide kept coming back.

Finally, at 3 am, she picked up her phone and called her pastor. He listened and understood the great danger she was in. He opened his Bible and felt prompted to read to her a passage from the book of Psalms. It was the same passage that she had read earlier! She knew now for a certainty that the Holy Spirit was with her to help her fight this battle. The pastor prayed with her over the phone and when they hung up she knew the battle was over, the enemy spirit was defeated and the peace of God restored in her heart. She went to bed and slept peacefully.

I read this account several years ago and have tried to retell it as I remember it. May we remember when thoughts of suicide come to us that these thoughts are not our own thoughts but come from an enemy who wants to destory us. The only way to be victorious over those thoughts is to seek the help of the Spirit who is more powerful, all powerful. The young lady who told of her encounter with the spirit of suicide sought help in all the right ways: by prayer, by reading God’s Word, by talking to another Christian who was patient, understanding and compassionate.

The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly. John 10:10

How I stay sane during a time of confinement

(Or at least try to)

  1. Talk to my cats. I know this probably sounds like I’m already losing it, but if there are not many people to talk to, cats are not a bad substitute. They are not persons, but they do have personalities, often a little eccentric, Both of ours are largely Siamese and they like to talk. Pookie is my Plautdietsch cat: he has blond hair, blue eyes and speaks a language I don’t understand.
  2. Drink coffee. I like A. L. van Houtte French Roast, from k-cups. I didn’t really like coffee before we went to Montreal in 1993, but driving by the van Houtte roastery on the way to church and inhaling the aroma changed that.
  3. Talk to people. That involves picking up the phone and dialing their number. It used to be hard to find my friends at home, but now they are in the same boat as I am and ready to pick up the phone and talk.
  4. Write to people. I get lots of impersonal emails and texts every day, I wish for more personal messages. Maybe other people do, too. There’s no better time than now to send a personal note.
  5. Exercise. I have a pedometer app on my phone and try to get 10,000 steps four or five days a week. At this time of year most of those steps are from jumping on my rebounder.  If our driveway ever dries I’ll do more walking outdoors.
  6. Try not to think about how late spring is this year. Complaining isn’t good for the state of my mind.
  7. Be thankful for every little spark of beauty in this dreary time.
  8. Be realistic about the Covid-19 virus. Ignore stories about conspiracy theories and quack cures.
  9. Find something interesting to read that takes me to a place and time where there is no Covid-19.
  10. Use this time to strengthen and deepen my relationship with God.

Boyhood fears

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I was afraid of a lot of things as a boy, the two main ones being girls and dogs. Girls were different, mysterious; they didn’t look, talk or act like boys. The thought of actually speaking to one crippled my mind and my tongue.

Yet there was always a girl or two that I could talk to without stammering like an imbecile. For some reason they were all named Joan. Thinking back, it might have been because Joan was the most common girl’s name for that era, just like Robert was for boys. There were two grades to a classroom in our school and three Roberts in my class. In order to distinguish between us we were known as Bob Dixon, Bobby Adamus and I had to be Robert Goodnough.

There were two girls with whom, I never had a problem visiting and they weren’t even named Joan. But they were cousins and that was even better. By now I think I have pretty much gotten over my fear of girls, of any age.

Dogs were even worse than girls. Not all dogs, but any big dog that barked was surely some kin of the hound of the Baskervilles. I had a half mile to walk to school, straight down the west side of town. Halfway between home and school there was a house set well back from the street with a dog chained up outside.

Every day, when I walked by that house, the dog would bark. It was a big, dark coloured dog. And my friends said it was half wolf. I was terrified. This went on for a couple years as passed fro nine to ten to eleven. I didn’t pray much in those days, but every time that dog barked I prayed that God would protect me from that evil wolf dog and give me the courage to keep on walking.

There was a wide coulee east of ton with a little creek running along the bottom called the Arm River. At most places the river was about ankle deep. But there was a spot several miles out of town that was wider and deeper and was used as a swimming hole. It was just an old-fashioned swimming hole, completely unsupervised, the nearest house a half mile away.

I didn’t go there often, it was too far and I couldn’t swim. I was afraid of water, too. But I knew that I was in no danger of drowning in that swimming hole; if I stood up in the deepest place my head was above the water.

One day as I was walking home from school I saw that evil wolf dog trotting down the road toward me. I walked closer to the side of the road and he went by without paying any attention to me. I noticed two things as he passed – he was dripping wet, and the pupils of his eyes were rectangular horizontal slits, not like the eyes of any dog I’d ever seen before. He was a wolf dog for sure.

The next day I heard that he had been down at the swimming hole. A young boy who couldn’t swim had gotten into the deep part where the water was over his head. He was floundering, gasping for air and calling for help. The dog had jumped in, the boy had grabbed his long fur and the dog had towed him up and out of the water. Apparently the dog was quicker thinking than the children.

Thus ended my fear of the evil wolf dog. What had I been afraid of anyway? It wasn’t the dog, it was the overheated thoughts in my own mind.

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