The human brain is amazing. Think about how many thoughts come to your brain daily. Many have nothing to do with you generating them. They just happen. A thought comes to you from nowhere, and like a train pulling carriages, it pulls in more thoughts—from nowhere.
At the same time, the brain is sending messages to keep you blinking, swallowing, and breathing and your heart beating. It’s telling you what to do with your arms—whether you fold them or hold them at your side. It’s also drawing on your memory bank, telling you that you’re hungry and what you like and don’t like to eat, sparking your salivary glands. It’s also stocked with multitudes of other memories, some of which come back to you when you hear a familiar sound, an old tune, or even a particular smell.
Then there’s the “Department of Imagination.” This part of your brain knows no bounds. You can imagine things that don’t exist. That’s how we begin the creative process. But because we live in a fallen state, it can feed our fears by giving us negative thoughts. Let me explain.
“You can imagine things that don’t exist. That’s how we begin the creative process. But because we live in a fallen state, it can feed our fears by giving us negative thoughts.”
I had been asked to go a hospital that was about ten miles from our city to pray for a man who is very sick. Mark Spence and my pastor came with me. Pastor Bruce Garner is a brilliant theologian, and he is so sharp that he even preaches without notes.
As we entered the hospital elevator, there were four people already inside. I was about to give each of them my favorite gospel tract. It’s easy to give out because it promotes our YouTube channel—using a really cute picture of my dog wearing sunglasses. On the back, it contains a short gospel message and a QR code that leads them to a fuller gospel presentation.
My eyes quickly scanned the four people, and I was able to sum them up—with a little help from my imagination. One person in particular caught my eye: the lady standing close to me who had a large tattoo on her arm. That told me that she probably came from a hard background. More than likely, she smoked cigarettes, drank alcohol, and used bad language. She probably had a couple of vicious German shepherds and was married to a big and tough anti-Christian biker. I therefore knew that she would bristle if I gave her fundamentalist religious literature. At the same time, I imagined my pastor would think I was showing off about how good I was at getting the gospel into the hands of strangers. All those thoughts flooded my overripe imagination in about three seconds.
Mark Spence has travelled with me for about 20 years, and he knew that I am normally a tract machine. But he also knew from my body language that there was a battle going on in my mind. And so he whispered one word in my earshot: “Chicken!”
That was all I needed. So I said, “Do you folks ever watch YouTube? You will like this. It’s a channel with 1.6 million subscribers.” Then I handed the four of them the tract—which they readily accepted. Even Mrs. Tattoos took one. Then she said, “You gave these to my daughter at her college.” We were about ten miles from the college.
I’m tempted to produce a T-shirt with the word “chicken” on it. This would not only provoke conversations, but it would also be a reminder not to listen to our crazy imaginations.
