Imagine.

Imagine.

Do you ever have trouble sleeping?

Sometimes when I lay down at night, I get all the pillows arranged just right, and I’m completely comfortable, but there’s something stirring, grinding in my soul that keeps me unsettled. I awake with worry and just can’t quite close my eyes again. What is that?

I recently woke up about 3am to chaotic waters in my mind washing over me like waves, and I didn’t know what to do. A big day was coming up, and I started to feel a bit despairing. But even though I was half-asleep, I began to imagine Jesus walking into my room. Just an image. I don’t know exactly what happened, but the next thing I knew, it was morning.

Was it make-believe, or was I giving shape to something real? 

Like Jesus asleep in the boat during the storm, he rose to quiet the waters of my mind…and I fell asleep. There is evidence that Psalm 77 was written in the middle of the night by someone troubled with an anxious heart. Listen to his lament…

I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me. When I was in distress, I sought the Lord; at night I stretched out untiring hands, and I would not be comforted. I remembered you, God, and I groaned; I meditated, and my spirit grew faint. You kept my eyes from closing; I was too troubled to speak.

Lying there sleepless on his bed, the psalmist begins to journal his innermost thoughts. He pulls out the cry of his heart and writes it on the page. This is important because the act of writing our thoughts down begins to separate us from the worry just a bit. That small distance gives us the chance to reframe our story. Do you know your story of worry?

Years ago when I would walk into a youth gathering, I’d cross the threshold of the building and immediately feel pain in my lower back. Two hundred kids walk into the room, and I immediately feel the burden of all their drama. I feel responsible. I feel the need to control things, even though I have a ridiculously small amount of control over anything. This has been part of my story of worry, but I’m learning that I don’t need to carry the weight of every relational outcome. 

That’s starting to shift for me. And midday through his journaling, something shifts for the psalmist: In the face of his inner groanings, he begins to remember. To “re-member,” to reconnect in his imagination with the history and character of God.

I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago. I will consider all your works and meditate on all your mighty deeds…. Your thunder was heard in the whirlwind, your lightning lit up the world; the earth trembled and quaked. Your path led through the sea, your way through the mighty waters, though your footprints were not seen.

To remember is to call to mind, to pull things up on the screen of your imagination. To meditate is to growl and gnaw on a bone like a dog. Worry is a dysfunctional meditation! We entertain scary scenarios instead of calling to mind what is true. Imagination is a God-given superpower for re-training our minds in what is good and beautiful. A gift for redirecting our self-talk. 

The psalmist uses his imagination to right-size his image of God, to see God’s power and strength, which he likens to the thunder and lightning that would storm over the Sea of Galilee, shaking the very earth. The bigness of God became his comfort and protection, even though his “footprints were not seen.” God’s presence wasn’t visible to the eye, but it was clear as day in his imagination.

Through his nighttime journaling, the psalmist’s thinking was re-storied. The story in his head changed dramatically. And guess what happened? Look at the last verse…

You led your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron.

A lot of scholars comment on the awkwardness of this final sentence. It’s as if he starts a whole new train of thought, only to cut off in the middle. The abrupt ending leads these scholars to believe that (you guessed it), the author fell asleep! Yes, he fell asleep with the pen in his hand.

Wow. The troubled thoughts that had him so riled up, so worried and anxious, were transformed as he brought to mind the reality of God’s goodness and might. What God had done in the past, and would do again in the future, took tangible shape in the creative space of his soul. The very worry that had highjacked his imagination was re-storied into something real and true…and lost the power to control him. With faith and peace restored, he fell asleep.

And this is our formational invitation too, whether in the nighttime or the daytime, to let our imagination be harnessed by the Spirit instead of hijacked by anxiety. For the glory of God and the good of our souls.