Good morning, My Dear Friends,
One of the great verses in the Book of Psalms says, “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits” (Psalm 105:1). I believe the writer of the psalm understood the operation of the human mind. The content of our memory can be controlled by conscious discipline.
There is an old story about a man who was recalling the hardships of his early life. He exaggerated to such an extent that his wife felt constrained to correct him. “Be quiet,” he said to her. “Half of the fun in remembering the good old days is rearranging them.” We are all capable of doing that. The memory can be manipulated. Someone once said, “The true art of memory is the art of attention.” I agree with that thought. What we give our minds to will eventually determine what they contain. This is why the psalmist taught us to count our blessings. Feed the mind on the right thing and life takes on the right complexion.
Will Rogers used to say that he was often tempted to believe life would be better if he lived in a different place. However, he said he conquered that temptation by an interesting method. He would subscribe to the leading newspaper from the place where he thought life would be better. “I would always find,” he said, “that things were a lot worse there than they are here.” That’s worth remembering. The mind feeds on the food that is placed at its disposal.
The next time you find yourself in a season of despair and gloom, try a simple exercise. Take a pencil and jot down a few of the good things that have happened to you. You will discover that this little process will go a long way toward lifting the shades and letting in the light. If we train our minds to do so, we can see our blessings. Our memories will then become pleasant. And pleasant memories from yesterday will go a long way toward helping us have a good tomorrow.
The sun was shining in my eyes, and I could hardly see.
To do the necessary task that was allotted me.
Resentment of the vivid glow, I started to complain.
When all at once upon the air I heard the blind man’s cane.
(-Poem by Earl Musselman)
May we each learn to be content,
Bruce Jones, Pastor
Imagine Church
