Thinking is dreaming when my mind coasts along, thin and airy. Thinking is hard work when mother tells me to write my book report or do my math.
What exactly is it to think? Is it just deciding whether to wear blue socks or red ones? Is it choosing strawberry jam or marmalade? Is it more than deciding or choosing? Is it more complicated than riding a bike or roller blading?
My dog, Buffy, on a Sunday afternoon seems sometimes to be thinking. His thoughts show on his face and tail. They’re easy to tell by the way he jumps and runs. He thinks HI! LET’S PLAY. THANKS, THANKS, THANKS A LOT. His thoughts are all passion and feeling. He wonders about me. He can’t figure why I don’t always run and play.
Thinking about God is more perplexing than considering math or sports. I’m not always sure how to do it right. In church or when Dad reads the Bible I get a better picture of the Lord because my mind is urged along. At those times it seems more certain of being accurate and pleasing to Him. Other times, though, He doesn’t always come to mind or He seems far away and maybe indifferent.
When I learned that God thinks about me I was surprised and afraid. My fear was there because I realized that He knows everything I do. He even knows my thoughts and secrets. Then I learned that His thoughts about me were “precious,” that they are many in number and that they existed even before He created the world. I wonder why He would think about me, why it should be so. I pondered His concern, that He says He thinks about me when I am asleep.