By Chelsea Coffman
Back when I was in college, I began to hear testimonies of those around me of how they came to know the Lord. Crazy stories of deliverance, deep repentance, wild lives they left behind when they each met Jesus. The stories were beautiful, powerful, encouraging. Yet I found questions of my own journey. They seemed to have experienced greater levels of grace in their receiving forgiveness for the sin and wild pasts they lived. I… I came to Jesus at the age of five. I never put my rebellious middle child spirit into action that the world could see. I didn’t rage at parties, run rampant, disobey the rules. I followed the rules: I got good grades; I made good friends; I was involved at school; I went to college. I was fulfilling all of the expectations my family and society had for me. Outwardly, I did right. Inwardly, I had an attitude; as my mom would say: “It wasn’t what you said, it was how you said it.” But most people didn’t see that. I was “good.” At the time, I prayed about grace in my own testimony. Holy Spirit in His kindness revealed to me it didn’t look like forgiveness of all that I had done, but it was grace that kept me from doing it. Grace that held me safe. Grace that kept me from my own destruction. Grace that did not let my wild nature win out. Because, the truth was, I did have an attitude. I could have taken the wrong path. I could have done all the things. But I didn’t. By His grace.
I still had an attitude though. One not many would see, yet there it lived. My words could bite. Those closest to me knew this. As I crafted sentences, I knew how to turn a dagger in the right moment. Slowly, Holy Spirit began to work on this - gentility in my speech and tone. Kindness in my words. A little bit of fear in using my voice: “I know what I can do with a word.” So I held more words in and kept my mouth more shut. Learning to control my tongue was good. Until it turned again: “My actions are what make me good. I don’t even say bad things anymore.” Pride found me. I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see it.
With blinded eyes, I began to hear of people around me doing a “silent fast” - no talking, singing, humming, signing, writing messages, texts - nothing. I found myself in a season where this was something I could do - I was single, surrounded by believers (some who had done this before), and with the time and space to do it. I made a notecard: “I’m silent fasting today.” I woke up and began. Thinking. Just thinking.
“Okay, so no talking today. That’s great. Easy. I’ll start my day with prayer. Then it will be time for class…”
I was in a ministry school after college, which my next several hours of thinking clearly show, right?
“Why are they doing that? Couldn’t they sit somewhere else? That isn’t right. That could be better. **Some funny joke I’d normally make aloud.** Silent. Silent. Silent. At least I’m not saying any of these not nice things. I really like that. That’s a good point. I can’t wait for lunch. Ugh, why is it being done that way? Isn’t there a more efficient way to take care of this? Who is that? What are they talking about? I should be better. I am not enough. I’m so glad to be with these people. I love them. I could try that. I would probably fail.”
My attitude had found me. Or rather, I found it. The more time that passed that day, the more I was my own conversation. I heard each thought in my mind as loudly as a conversation outside of me. When I could not say any words, I quickly found that all of my thoughts had to be weighed the same. The issue was not what I was or was not saying. It was my attitude. It was my judgments. It was my rather unsanctified thought life. In the silence, I discovered my brokenness, my pride, and my deep need for a Savior for this rule following, ever falling short woman. What a gift of His mercy and grace - that God reveals to us our brokenness and convicts us of our sin.
Scripture tells us the importance of our minds and our thoughts. I had read so many of these verses and been encouraged over the years. Yet here I was realizing anew the importance of this work in me by His grace. I repented. No one is good but the Father alone, Jesus tells us. Our best behavior is unimpressive to Him. He is after far more than rule followers. He’s after hearts and transformed lives.
And so, even as I type this, and hear my own thoughts a bit louder again today, I repent now.
My thought life belongs to You, Lord. I submit it to You once again. Forgive me for every careless thought and word that comes through unchecked. I’m reminded of a quote from a pastor: “I cannot afford to have a thought that isn’t His.” I grow ever aware of this. Lord, sanctify my thoughts, that I may understand what it is to have the mind of Christ and to think as You do. It is not by my behavior modification that I am sanctified and justified in Your presence but by Your mercy and grace alone. Everything is Your mercy. Everything is Your grace. I thank you, Lord, for Your loving kindness. Thank You for the blood of Jesus that has made a way for me. Thank You for Your mercy and Your grace. Amen.
As we continue in this fast, may we not look to check boxes and be the best at fasting that any person can be. May we not think of this as some behavior modification project. But this is the work of the Spirit in us as we deny our flesh. He is transforming us into His image from one degree of glory to another (2 Cor 3:18, paraphrase). Let His will be done in us today, tomorrow, and for eternity.