Your Thoughts Matter

Overthinking

The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking – Albert Einstein.

Your thoughts are more powerful than you realize. They aren't just fleeting clouds that pass unnoticed across the sky of your mind; they can shape the way you see yourself, the choices you make, the way you connect with others, and even how you experience God.

Sometimes they lift you, giving strength and perspective. They tear you down other times, leaving you tangled in doubt and despair. I've come to see that our thoughts don't simply color our world but often create it.

The Bible speaks of this as a battle of the mind, urging us to take every thought captive. Modern psychology and neuroscience echo the same truth: our inner dialogue matters. What you tell yourself repeatedly, whether actual or not, becomes the filter through which you see everything else. And when you believe a thought strongly enough, your brain begins to search for evidence to support it, making it feel less like a passing idea and more like reality itself.

I've learned this in a profoundly personal way. After losing my son Kevin to depression and suicide, my thoughts tormented me. I told myself I had failed him, that I should have seen more, done more, been more. Those thoughts weren't occasional; they circled endlessly until they hardened into beliefs. Soon, they no longer felt like thoughts — they felt like truth. But they weren't true. They were lies born of grief, shame, and guilt, reinforced by a mind caught in loops of pain.

Metacognition — the ability to reflect on one's thinking — has been a powerful tool in my journey. By stepping back and asking, Why am I thinking this? Is it helping me? Is it even true? I've started to see that thoughts are not the same as facts. They are waves I can notice without drowning in them. They rise and fall, powerful at times, but they do not define who I am. Sometimes simply naming them gives me room to breathe.

In the early months after Kevin's death, my mind replayed the same "what ifs." What if I had been home that day? Would he still be alive? I thought it so often that it became a belief: I failed him. Psychologists refer to this phenomenon as cognitive priming — once you accept a belief, your brain seeks evidence to support it, thereby shutting out any information that might challenge it.

That's why people who are depressed so often see only darkness, even when light is all around them. Our minds create a version of the truth, and the more we reinforce it, the harder it becomes to see differently.

Faith is a powerful force in this battle of the mind. In 2 Corinthians, Paul urges us to take every thought captive, not to let them run wild and unchecked. For me, this became a lifeline. When my mind whispered accusations, I learned to pause and ask, Does this align with God's truth or with my pain? Slowly, gently, I replaced the lies with reminders of grace, forgiveness, and love. Romans 12:2 urges us to be transformed by the renewing of our minds. In my grief, that renewal became less about forcing positive thinking and more about inviting God to rewrite the narrative my thoughts had created.

Kevin himself wrestled with the power of thought and feeling. In his own handwriting, he once wrote:

Written by Kevin

No independence Needing another Unloved without you The flames bent my will My embers spark a new fuel discovered verve fabricated from taboo desire taboo dreams Imploding, exploding, Never knew the damage we could do. Unpredicted, unprecedented destruction that brought new hope

When I read those words, I hear his ache and longing. He captures the destructive fire of pain — imploding, exploding — but also names "new hope." Even in brokenness, he sensed the possibility beyond despair. His words remind me that thoughts can be destructive and transformative. Even embers can spark. Even ruin can hold the seeds of hope and renewal.

Science confirms what scripture and personal experience reveal. Metacognition, or reflecting on our thinking, gives us the space to change our perspective. Priming explains how our beliefs shape our view of the world, sometimes distorting reality. Neuroplasticity demonstrates that our brains are capable of change; the more we practice healthier thought patterns, the stronger they become. Practices like journaling, mindfulness, therapy, prayer, and scripture meditation all help create new pathways, gradually changing how we see ourselves and the world. Mindset also matters. Viewing challenges as opportunities instead of threats builds resilience, just as scripture reminds us that suffering can produce endurance, character, and hope.

None of this means the process is quick or easy. Changing thought patterns requires time, awareness, and often support. For me, it has also involved faith. Faith works as a kind of counter-priming: where my mind once fixated on failure, God's Word offers encouragement; where I saw only fault, His Spirit reminds me that His strength is made perfect in weakness.

Slowly, my thoughts have shifted, and while I still struggle, I no longer live entirely inside the prison they once created.

Kevin's life and death taught me just how powerful thoughts can be. His depression narrowed his focus until he could hardly see beyond the pain. My grief did the same to me. But both also point to this truth: our thoughts are not the whole truth. They are not the final word.

So I ask you the same questions I now ask myself: Are your thoughts lifting or pulling you down? Are they leading you toward love, truth, and growth, or chaining you to fear and doubt? Remember, your thoughts matter and are not the story's end. With awareness, compassion, and faith, they can change. And when they change, so can you.

Kevin's life, though cut short, mattered deeply. His thoughts—his music, his reflections, his humility, and even his struggles—left an imprint on me and on everyone who loved him. And so do yours.

So today, I invite you to pause and remind yourself: My thoughts matter. My voice matters. My life matters. Because they do. Because you do.