A Note on Imaginary Conversations
Right now, my wife and I are in the middle of a “oh-my-goodness-are-we-really-doing-this?” kinda season. More than once I’ve curled up and cried, unsure if I’m going crazy or not.
For context, we’re fulltime starting a non-profit publishing house. There’s no money in non-profits and there’s no money in books (solid business plan, Phil). Although we’ve had success in both donations and sales, we are a mile away from being able to pay our bills.
Single income. Four kids.
Yet one of the most interesting phenomena is that my wife and I keep imagining ourselves talking with others. In our minds, we conjure images of family members or friends who ask us, “What the heck are you doing?” and we (in our imaginations) try and stumble through some half-baked defense about how this is a “good idea”.
We imagine how we must look to others: foolish and delusional.
The thing is, I think we all imagine conversations like this — surely my wife and I are not alone. Often, we consider what these conversations would be like before doing something socially dangerous and faith-driven… and then we don’t do it.
On one hand, I think there is a vein of cultural logic that would tell us to chuck these imaginary conversations, seeing them as some residue of childhood trauma to be pushed aside as we pursue freedom in our ability to do what we think is best without the judgment of others weighing us down. We should do that which we think is best, and not be concerned with the judgments of others, or so the thought process goes.
But I actually think these pretend conversations are a source of life, in their own way. Or they can be, at least.
Imagining Our Way Into Faith
Instead of trying to rid ourselves of these conversations (which I think is a losing battle anyway) we should construct these conversations. Pursue them with intentionality.
I don’t mean that we should manipulate our thoughts to create conversations in which we are unabashedly praised and supported by the imaginary versions of our friends and family, but I do think we should intentionally engage with these thoughts in order to allow even these imaginary conversations to be tools of sanctification.
Perhaps this is one aspect of “taking thoughts captive”.
For though we walk in the flesh, we do not wage battle according to the flesh, for the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh, but divinely powerful for the destruction of fortresses. We are destroying arguments and all arrogance raised against the knowledge of God, and we are taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ, and we are ready to punish all disobedience, whenever your obedience is complete.
2 Corinthians 10: 3-6 NASB
This must begin with the careful choosing of who we have these imaginary conversations with.
The most important conversation for me to imagine is the one that will happen before the Father. Like, imagine I kick-the-bucket today and stand before God, how will he consider view this season of my life? What would be His thoughts on use starting this non-profit and risking financial strain?
Based on what I know of the Lord and how He has chosen to reveal Himself in Scripture, I see it (generally) going one of two ways.
Assuming I’m an idiot and God never called me to this, the conversation might be something like…
“Phillip, what were you doing?” God asks.
I’m sure I’d be bowing, stuttering, all the insecurities coming out and tears welling up. “Dad, I was just tryin’ to do what I thought You said. I wanted to write books and help others write them and… I dunno.”
The Father loves faith and He loves the Son that sits at His right hand. But in this (worst case) example, let’s say He knows I was fooled by my own desires.
I think this is when Jesus would lean over and say, “Father, this is our servant who is covered in my blood and dressed in white. His mistakes and sins were upon me, and are now cast as far as the east is from the west.”
Then the Father might smile and say, “Then he is forgiven, and even this mistake I will make new.”
Whatever would happen, God will not be angry at His children who honestly seek Him, even if they don’t get it “right”. And if I got it “wrong” because of my own sin which was buried deep and hidden from me in some way, the blood of Jesus covers me.
So what if I am right, and God has called my wife and I to this season of faith? Then I think Jesus has already given me the words I should imagine the Father speaking.
“Well done, good and faithful slave. You were faithful with a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter the joy of your master.”1
Clarity of Thought
Imagining my conversation with the Father, and the various way it could go based on my current understanding of Scripture, brings deep clarity.
You see, my wife and I are in this precarious “holy-guac-are-we-gonna-go-broke?” season because we believe God has called us and will provide for us. Maybe I’m wrong and delusional, but if I am then it is an honest form of delusion. Well intentioned and childlike.
And this willingness to put aside material blessing and pursue Jesus and His calling brings God so much joy!
Gosh, how did we end up with a western Church that thinks “wisdom” is hedging your bets and padding your savings account? Wisdom is being far more afraid of God than poverty. Wisdom is a willingness demonstrated through action to chuck everything in this world out the metaphorical window for the mere hope of pleasing the Father, honoring the Spirit, and following the Son.
Sometimes, I forget that — especially when I imagine myself standing before certain friends, withering beneath their confused stares. In those moments I think 401(k)s and steady income makes the most sense.
But imagining a conversation with God is like shoving my eyes into a telescope and looking out into the great expanse of eternity. All of my life and pain is put into perspective and submitted to He who loved me first.
When looking out into the stars, who can be consumed with the rubbish at their feet?
See the parable in Matthew 25.
Beautiful, truthful words friend!