Giving Thanks: Choosing to Think

On this third day of gratitude, I am thankful I quit Twitter.

Although, if I'm honest, I sometimes miss it.

What? You didn't know I quit the Twitters?

It's OK. I didn't tell anyone, and even those close to me didn't realize it until weeks later. I just closed the account, and went about my life.

To be honest, I had struggled for a long time with Twitter, because it greatly impeded my thinking powers (not to mention sucked up time). I felt certain that thinking in 140 characters or less was draining my capacity to think deep thoughts, but I couldn't pin down a good excuse as to why that would be true. So I continued typing short sentences with bad txt tping...only I wsnt LOL'ing. U knw wht I mn?

As a result, all my thoughts were becoming shallow. I began to tweet mundane things that nobody wanted to know. My entire brain-power was about trying to quip one-liners...and y'all know I'm not that funny.

I read Jerusha Clark's book, Every Thought Captive: battling the toxic beliefs that separate us from the life we crave , and was smacked in the head with this quote from the first chapter*:

How we think determines our spiritual, emotional, and sometimes physical health. Elizabeth George notes, "Like a virus, our thoughts have the ability to drain our energy and cripple our usefulness. Our thoughts can, however, also be a source of strength when we dwell on the powerful truths of Scripture."

I got the one-two punch when I read this:

Proverbs 4:23

Be very careful what you think, your thoughts run your life. 

(NCV)

Wow. And yeah...

Truth. Sometimes it comes gently. Sometimes it hits you on the nose.

I realized that Twitter (for me) wasn't just about what I was thinking, but how it made me think of myself and others....sometimes it made me feel prideful, "Wow, what I just tweeted about my pedi-cure was so clever!" and sometimes it made me feel insecure, "Why didn't anybody respond to that great tweet about clipping my toenails?"

I am very hyper-aware about hiding my needy-ness. Let's just be honest, I like to appear like I've got it under control so people will like me. Twitter fed into this already crazy-frenzy, mixed-up, Kellie the CoffeeGal thought life, and I didn't like the down-hill trend.

This quote, also from Chapter One* hit the nail on the head:

Many of our thoughts, unfortunately, are both negative and untrue. At different points in their lives, most women have believed poisonous lies such as these: I'm not good enough. What others believe about me defines who I am. I am the sum of my accomplishments and my relationships [and my tweets**]. We have all believed self-defeating falsities as well, lies that have hijacked and poisoned our minds.

I wish I could tell you that I am the woman who escaped this generalization, but I'm not. My lack of thinking deep and truthful thoughts was "draining my energy and crippling my usefulness," not only on Twitter, but on this blog, in my conversations with real-life people, and in my quiet-times in the morning. 

When my kids were babies a wise women in our church came to my home to speak to my mom's group. She said that when choosing activities for ourselves or our children, we should ask ourselves this question: Will this activity build us (as a family) up? Or tear us down? 

As a mom, friend, and wife my thought life is the doorway to everything I do. If it tears me down, the fall-out has the potential to pull all those things I endeavor to pursue down with it. Twitter wasn't building me up, it was robbing me of my thought life, but what's worse, it wasn't building anyone up in my circle of influence either. 

So, that's why I quit.

I am grateful, for authors like Jerusha Clark, and other writers who share God's wisdom in books that tell the Truth, though its sometimes hard to hear.

And I am grateful, though I do miss the camaraderie of my Tweeps, that I quit typing thinking in 140 characters or less.

* I'd like to give the page numbers, but I read this book electronically, and the pages are wonky.

** my words, added for emphasis.