He says it better

Andrew Peterson (on of my favorite musicians) says it all better than I ever could in his Journal from Oct 22, 2006.

I've noticed lately that a common refrain in my prayers is that God would untangle my mind. For as long as I can remember I've had this itch at the back of my brain that something just isn't right in there, and that that something has caused me a lot of problems. Aside from the fact that, from a theological standpoint, I'm broken and on the long road to holiness, my brain is and has always been a dysfunctional organ.

When I pray, my mind wanders almost immediately. I can start off praising God for His goodness and mercy and by the time that first sentence is through I'm already mentally zipping through the cereals in the cupboard, wondering which one I should eat today. For a long time I wrote my prayers down in a journal, not so much to keep a tally of which prayers God had answered, but so that I could try to wrestle my flighty thoughts to the ground and keep them from running away from me. But my hand cramps after a few pages of writing, and I've misplaced a couple of journals that were laden with deep, dark secrets. It horrifies me that those journals are somewhere out in America, being perused by some jerk who isn't decent enough to mail it to the address on the first page. (Can you tell it upsets me?) So I don't do that so much anymore.

I don't like writing these things, because I'd rather portray myself as some beard-stroking, pipe smoking genius with barely enough time to write down all that's in his shining mind. If you function under any delusions that the guy who you hear singing his songs on your CD player is any smarter, better, or holier than you, think again. I'm not fishing for compliments, or hoping that anyone will coddle me for being down on myself. That's not what this is. I'm just appalled sometimes at how very, very fallen I am, even after years of encountering the maker of the world in very tangible ways. I take comfort in how pig-headed the apostles could be, even after years of eating, sleeping, walking with the Man Himself.

So Lord? Untangle my mind. Help me to see the logical end to my train of thought, that I might live in truth and not illusion. Help me to value time with others more than time with the next episode of Lost. Help me to fight tooth and nail against this culture of celebrity and wealth in a world where children are dying in the rubble of some terror blown city. Help me to recognize my attempts to deceive myself into believing that I can function without You. Help me to be who You want me to be, no matter how scary that is. Madame Guyon said that becoming more holy and drawing near to You was like water evaporating and rising to the clouds—it has only to let You do Your work. The impurities will fall away as I transform into who I am meant to be. Bring the good work you started in me to completion, and soon, because these days I can hardly bear to be myself.