When Birgitta and I were touring a university campus last week, our student guide stopped in front of the psychology building and said, “There’s a giant lecture hall in here with a stage. The professor chose this room so students could see when he performed psychological experiments such as hypnotizing volunteer students.” Our tour leader laughed as he told of the crazy stunts the professor commanded these students to do while they were “under”.

I’ve always told my kids never to allow anyone to hypnotize them and hope Birgitta, as a future college student, will never volunteer for such an experiment. Turning over mind-control to someone else is a dangerous proposition… unless that someone is God.

God doesn’t play mind games with us. As a matter of fact, my mind has been rescued multiple times when I’ve gone off the deep end in my thinking, whether its worry, panic or fear. My frequent prayer has been, “Please tell me what to think right now.” When life spins out of control, I’d rather have the all-knowing God directing my thoughts than my own troubled mind.

In recent weeks, as I’ve tried to process Nate’s cancer and death, I’ve needed God’s mind-control again and again. Certain scenes have bothered me to the point of torment. A handful of regrets have regularly accused me, and fear sometimes threatens at the edge of my thought life. When these things happen, I’ve found it helpful to pray immediately and ask God to “erase that thought.” And he’s done it every time.

It happened again yesterday. I was bothered by remembering something I’d insensitively said to someone, deeply regretting it. Again and again it came to mind, upsetting me anew each time. But there are no do-overs in situations like this, so I asked the Lord to please take that destructive thought out of my mind and never let it return. Today I couldn’t tell you what it was. It’s gone. I remember that I was bothered but can’t remember over what.

This is the kind of mind control God offers. It’s completely safe and accomplishes a cerebral house cleaning unavailable in any other way. And better than that, a mind submitted to the Lord can eventually become Christ-like. Scripture assures us we can have “the mind of Christ,” should we desire it. For example, as we try to understand spiritual truth through the Holy Spirit’s guidance, we’re using our minds as Christ used his.

When we suffer well or humble ourselves or refuse to complain, we’re using our minds as Christ did. Each of these is nearly impossible, though, without first turning our minds over to him, swapping our control for his. And when I ask him to erase a recurring memory that’s disturbing me, I’m asking to think like Christ. I’m thankful for the opportunity to ask, and grateful when he answers by ridding my mind of toxic debris.

Whatever was distressing me yesterday isn’t bothering me a bit today, because I can’t remember what it was.

“Let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.” (Romans 12:2b)

 While Birgitta and I were on our college search trip, Jack became a city pooch, bunking in the girls’ Chicago apartment with Louisa and relishing a banquet of tantalizing doggie smells in a new neighborhood. When Louisa called us to say she saw blood in Jack’s stool, my heart clutched; “Oh no! Not Jack, too!”

It’s been six months since Nate died, two weeks since Val died and a week since Merrilyn. Would Jack die now, too? He’s in his canine prime, only seven years old. We’ve often referred to him as “Barrel Boy” because of his thick mid-section. If he was sick, wouldn’t he be losing weight?

Two days before we knew of Nate’s all-over cancer, a test revealed blood in his stool. The doctor asked, “Have you recently eaten a big slab of rare beef?” Although Nate hadn’t, I hoped Jack had.

“Let’s not panic,” I told the girls after I’d already leaped to the worst-case-scenario. Although I didn’t feel angry with God, I did point a giant question mark in his direction. Could he possibly have in mind to take Jack away from us right now? Wouldn’t that be asking us to cope with more than we could handle?

We decided to wait until Jack produced again before taking action. When he did, the whole mess looked unhealthy and was laced with bright pink blood. But it was Sunday, which meant we’d have to use a pricey animal emergency room to get a professional opinion.

“If he’s sick,” I said, “one more day won’t hurt. Let’s wait till tomorrow and see what happens.”

Birgitta and I monitored the situation from Iowa and western Illinois via Louisa’s poop-reports, hearing the good news on the third day that his movements were blood-free. Jack has been himself since then, so we’re chalking it up to something he ate, maybe a sharp fish bone on the beach. Time may tell a different story, but for now, all is well. 

How many crises are too many? Years ago our pastor’s wife said, “Tragedies usually come in sevens or threes.” I laughed, but she said, “No! I’m serious.” Since then I’ve noticed how misery often does arrive in clumps. People say, “Right now everything’s going wrong in my life!” That’s a clump.

I read yesterday of a woman who bargained with God. She prayed, “If you protect my children from all harm, I’ll be thankful every day for the other blessings in my life.” Her son got meningitis and had to be hospitalized, and she blamed God for failing to hold up his end of her bargain. When the infection caused more pain than the young boy could stand, doctors put him in a coma. When his body bruised all over as a result of broken blood vessels, they said he might die. When both of his legs had to be amputated to save his life, his mom railed against God in fury.

God is many things, but a bargainer he isn’t. There’s nothing we can offer him that he needs but doesn’t already have. My guess is that trying to manipulate him is a fast track to angry, because such arrogance is an assertion of power we don’t actually own. Bargaining assumes we are somehow on God’s level, a massive miscalculation.

I’m free to pour out my concerns to God, ask all the questions I want and express nervousness about clumped tragedies, but if I try to strike a deal, I’m in for a mess of trouble.

The bottom line is, if God chose to take Jack now, we could wonder why and feel sadness but would have to let God be God. He loves us, and I’m confident he wouldn’t let such a thing happen without an important reason. I also know that while we were going through it, we could count on him to share our sorrow. In any case, it’s his deal, not mine.

“The Lord helps the fallen and lifts those bent beneath their loads.” (Psalm 145:14)

The day Louisa was born was significant for Nate and me, because she came to us after a tubal ligation… and reversal. Shortly after Nate and I turned 40, we decided it would be wise not to have any more children.

We already had four sons and one daughter, ages 3 to 13, and were “over the hill” in terms of baby-bearing years. Our home was busy, and we were thankful for our big family. When a hernia necessitated surgery for me, we decided to have a tubal done simultaneously. The two surgeons worked in tandem, and when it was all over, life continued to rush forward at a happy pace.

A year or so later, however, I found myself unable to sleep, churning over our decision to become sterilized. Nate and I had recognized each of our children as a valuable gift from God, yet we’d said, by the tubal, “No more of these blessings, Lord. Thanks, but no thanks.”

After four months of thinking, praying and talking to doctors, we had the tubal reversed. The microsurgeon who did it couldn’t understand why we wanted more children, but we didn’t see it that way. All we were doing was putting the matter back into God’s hands after mistakenly taking it into our own. Whether or not we had more children would be up to him, not us. After all, he was the Author of life.

The day Louisa was born, one family member was especially elated. Linnea, sandwiched between four brothers, had prayed for a sister every night for eight years. At age 11, she was close to giving up, but that’s when Louisa came along, the fulfillment of a little girl’s dream.

The day of the birth, Nate wanted to tell the kids of her arrival one-on-one. He especially hoped to see Linnea’s reaction to getting a sister. He drove from the Chicago hospital to her school in Arlington Heights where she and her pals were on the playground after lunch. Since we’d left for the hospital before school, the children all knew our new baby would arrive before the end of that day. Linnea took one look at Nate walking onto the playground and raced over to hear the news.

When he said, “You have a sister!” she and all her friends began screaming and jumping up and down as a unit, rejoicing over her good fortune. As Proverbs says, “The desire accomplished is sweet to the soul.” (13:19) Louisa’s arrival was sweet to all of us. Best of all, she was God’s response to putting our family size back into his capable hands. During the time when I was sterile, we often wondered whether or not God wanted to send us another little somebody to raise. When Louisa was born, we got our answer.

Today she turned 22, and I can’t imagine life without her. She’s a family-loyal person, deeply appreciative of each relationship, working to keep them current. And it’s my great joy to watch her relationship with the Lord deepen as the days pass. Although she’s been hit with numerous physical and emotional traumas in the last few years and might have railed against God because of them, she’s chosen to draw closer to him instead. In turn, her faith has deepened. For me, there is no greater pleasure than watching this unfold.

God truly was good to us on April 28, 1988.

“Who is like the Lord our God? He settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children. Praise the Lord.” (Psalm 113:5, 9)