Be careful little eyes what you see,
Oh be careful little eyes what you see,
For the Father up above
Is looking down in love,
So be careful little eyes what you see.
There I was, driving along, singing at the top of my lungs to my wee grandson’s kiddie CD when I suddenly smacked into the brick wall. No, not literally (thank you, Jesus), but it felt like it.
I wasn’t expecting to be convicted by a children’s song, for pity’s sake. But there it was, the fiery arrow of true guilt zinging straight into my heart, hiding beneath the unassuming words of the last verse:
Be careful little mind what you think,
Oh be careful little mind what you think,
For the Father up above
Is looking down in love,
So be careful little mind what you think.
The Father up above is looking down in love, so be careful little mind what you think.
All at once it hit me. All those times (and lately it seems like a gazillion) when I’ve bitten back a harsh response to a co-worker, boss, crazy driver, clerk, family member or friend, and instead thought searing, critical, or sarcastic replies that I thought were private … weren’t. The Joan Rivers in my head seems always to be hot to go and never hesitates to skewer anyone who crosses me.
Silently, of course. I am, after all, an inspirational writer and speaker.
I thought I was doing the “Christian” thing by not blasting the victim with my verbal Uzi.
I thought I was being patient and even kind by putting them in their place mentally instead of physically.
I thought being a reflection of Jesus was surface stuff … like the shimmering reflection of trees in a pond.
I thought turning away and rolling my eyes and biting my tongue was acceptable in God’s sight because no actual relationship damage was done. No messes to clean up. No apologies to utter.
I thought that nobody hears what I don’t say.
But I was wrong.
Somebody hears. Somebody important.
The Father up above is looking down in love, so be careful little mind what you think.
Gulp. My only consolation is that He is indeed looking down at me in love and promises to forgive all that faulty thinking. And maybe sharpen my reflection, too, so someone can actually tell Who the blurry image is supposed to be.
But that’s not enough. The next step is to replace my stinkin’ thinkin’ with something else. Something strong enough and satisfying enough that I won’t be tempted to reload my weapon and slip back into nastyland. Something like the apostle Paul had in mind in Philippians 4:8: “Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right.”
So now I’m trying to come up with a Yield sign for my thoughts. A short, powerful slogan that will become my automatic default when my eyeballs start to roll and sarcastic inner responses beg to placate my desire for personal retribution.
Got any ideas? What helps you sharpen your reflection?
