MIND OVER MATTER

I read a bumper sticker (yeah, I do that sometimes...bad habit) that read, “Mind over matter: If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter!” At the time, it seemed nonsense to me—just another stupid platitude someone had made up, probably just so that s/he could put it on that bumper sticker. However, God taught me something the other day that keeps that “stupid” saying ringing in my head.

As the recurring theme of this ’blog, killing my Self so that Christ may be born in my place has been my goal for some time. Yet, things happen each day that, taken together, seem to demonstrate that my efforts so far have been in vain. Then, once in a while, something happens that clearly demonstrates that I am succeeding...wildly. One thing that happens a lot involves vehicles: someone else drives in such a way that endangers the public. More to the point, someone drives in a way that endangers—or, still more to the point, annoys—me. Then, I respond with moral outrage, indignation, anger, etc., which proves once again that I—as a recipient of insults—still exist.

Something I have to keep reminding myself is that, even in my most redeemed state, emotion is not bad. Feelings are not my enemy. I can experience loss, grief, sadness, anger—and even seething hatred—without sinning. God does these same things. Jesus wept when his friend, Lazarus, died. He expressed hatred toward the Nicolaitans in his revelation to John. My problem is not that I feel angry when people put my life—or the lives of my loved ones—in danger. My problem is that I respond to that anger by either wreaking violent revenge upon them or fantasizing about doing so.

Yesterday in Sunday school, we were talking about stress. We were exploring the ways insults—whether physical, mental or spiritual—can accumulate over time to cause illness. We learned that the vast majority of ailments are not rooted in those insults; rather, they are rooted in how we respond to them. The boom buggy that pounds away at our bones with 130-decibel blasts may well shatter feeble old bones. However, it is the churning resentment we bear toward its driver that will push our levels of blood pressure and nervous tension beyond health. The insult injures; our maladaptive response to the insult magnifies that injury and prolongs its effects. The initial insult to our systems may be confined to a particular intersection where the offending child parks his weapon behind us while we are stopped at a traffic signal. It may last only a matter of minutes. However, it is what we do when the light changes and we make good our escape from that insult that will have a much-longer-lasting impact—no pun intended—on our overall health.

As my son, Brian, and I prepared to turn into our street from the “main drag”, something happened that affirms some progress in my Christotic quest. A vehicle passed us on our left side. Had I turned a split second earlier, I may have been killed. That guy didn’t even slow down; he barreled on by as though it were the most natural thing to do. I thought—yes, thought; I didn’t have to fight an urge—about chasing the guy down and educating—yes, educating; I had no desire to beat him up—him about traffic safety. Amazing. It wasn’t until I had gone home and debriefed Brian regarding the incident that I began to stew about how that inconsiderate so and so had put our lives—and the integrity of my minivan—in jeopardy. Still, I didn’t get angry. Instead, I resolved to call the Public Works department on Monday morning.

I just got off of the phone with Maria of the Public Works department. She told me that there is a six-week backlog of cases and that complaints are handled on a first-come, first-served basis. If no one is injured or killed in the next six weeks, I guess that will be fine. I told Maria that I have had, to date, four near head-on collisions at that intersection. I went on to say that the striping on the pavement is very clear—albeit a bit faded—and that I have no problem whatever reading it. “It’s my stupid neighbors who drive on the wrong side of the street and nearly collide with one another,” I complained. “I think you need to add redundant signage to knock them over the head with instruction on how to negotiate the traffic-control indicators.” She replied that Giselle would investigate the matter and get back to me...in about six weeks.

Have I backslidden? By calling my neighbors who can’t—or won’t—drive properly “stupid”, have I given back to the Enemy the ground that I gained by finishing my turn instead of chasing down the idiot who nearly got us killed? I don’t think so. I was only calling them what they are: fools. God does as much many times in the Bible. Calling a fool a fool is not a sin. Getting mad at him for being a fool—and calling him “airhead”—is a sin.

From victory to victory, glory to glory, the journey continues.