Germs don’t stand a chance

I used the mega, industrial, $9.00 washer at the laundromat. That’s thirty-six quarters, put into the slot, one at a time. Because when you have to “anti the bacteria” from every piece of your bedding, those huge washers and dryers come in handy.

And when you’ve had a nasty stomach bug, you want to anti ALL the bacteria. You want it gone, dead, and powerless over you.

You select hot water, second wash, and second rinse cycles. You use mega detergents. And you pour the sanitizing additive into both the softener and the bleach compartments—because if a little is good, a lot must be better. And just to be sure, you douse your dryer balls in purifying essential oils.

I won’t admit to overkill. But I did throw away three emptied bottles when I left the laundromat. In my defense, one of them hadn’t been newly opened that day.

Those germs didn’t stand a chance.

Can I clean up my thinking like that?

I was running on a couple of days of empty, so by the time I lugged everything out to the van, then into the laundromat, transferred it from bag to washers, then to dryers—I was wiped out.

The bug had depleted and weakened my body and my mind. I’d been assaulted by stinkin’ thinkin’ about everything—from the state of the world to the state of my pedicure. Nothing was safe.

“Stinkin’ thinkin'” is what my friend, Kay Bennett, calls the kind of thoughts that mess with a person’s peace of mind and wreak havoc. It’s pretty good at disguising its twisted lies as truth and its chaos as constructive activity.

That day at the laundromat, hypnotized by the huge comforter and sheets turning in the dryer, my body and mind relaxed. My thoughts tumbled along with the bedding and began to untangle. I knew I had more detoxifying and purifying to do. I needed to bring out the big guns.

For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ.

2 Corinthians 10:3-5 (ESV)

I’d assaulted the laundry germs, and when I saw I had a problem with my thinking, I bombed that bacteria with everything in my arsenal, too.

I have three favorite spiritual weapons that work for me when I need to take my thoughts captive.

The Word. Confession. Praise.

I cranked up my New Morning Mercies Playlist as soon as I got in the car. It’s full of songs that declare God’s name and his character. The music reminded me of whose I am—and who I am in him. I sang the truth boldly and loudly.

Over the next few days, I confessed some discouragement to my ministry board and some uncharitable thoughts to another friend. These fellow strugglers reminded me of God’s activity and pointed me to the truth. One friend actually laughed out loud at a thought I shared, and I saw it for the ridiculous lie it was. I was encouraged.

I read God’s Word. God’s effective, soul-piercing, mind-changing Word. I turned to promises and teaching that I know are true—but sometimes forget.

I didn’t do this “taking thoughts captive” thing in any particular order. I didn’t portion it out sparingly. I threw grenades and dropped bombs all over that stinkin’ thinkin’ because I wanted it gone, dead, and powerless over me.

My attack worked divinely, because I used divine weaponry.

Come Alongside

I want to look deeper into this divine arsenal in the coming weeks. But for now, I’d love to hear how you take your thoughts captive. Are there favorite verses you go to? Favorite songs of praise? Do you have people in your life who will listen to your confession and exhort you? And do you employ any other divine weapons?

Post in the comments or message me privately. We’re all in this battle together. Let’s encourage each other while it’s still today (Eph 3:13)!

Traveling in Grace,

Christi Gibson