What runs through your mind every day? How much of it is focused on you—how you are seen, how you are doing, how you are measuring up, and how you relate to the world around you? Scripture invites us to “set your minds on things above, not on earthly things” (Colossians 3:2), reminding me that the direction of my thoughts shapes the direction of my heart.

It is easy to become absorbed in our own thoughts. We replay conversations. We worry about what others think. We chase comfort, entertainment, approval, and control. But when my mind is full of myself, there is less room for Jesus to be at the center of my life. Jesus said, “Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness” (Matthew 6:33), and that calling exposes how often I seek first my own security, image, or ease.

The Question Beneath Every Moment

What is the goal of each day and each moment? That question has started to confront me. Jesus went to the cross moves toward me when my brain and only hides, moves away. His grace covers all my sins. Is my goal simply to be entertained, understood, affirmed, comfortable, and protected from failure? Or is my goal to remain close to Christ, attentive to His presence, and willing to follow Him even when my own desires pull me elsewhere? “Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men” (Colossians 3:23) reminds me that even ordinary moments can be directed toward Him.

I have become aware that I have been attached—maybe even addicted—to movies, television, YouTube, shopping, and the world’s opinion of me. These things may seem harmless on the surface, but they can slowly become places where I run for escape, comfort, identity, and distraction. Paul’s warning that “all things are lawful,” but not all things are helpful, and that he would “not be dominated by anything” (1 Corinthians 6:12), gives language to this struggle.

The Noise That Competes with Christ

Distraction does not always announce itself as rebellion. Sometimes it looks like one more episode, one more video, one more purchase, one more attempt to numb the ache inside. But over time, the noise trains my heart to avoid silence. It teaches me to fear stillness, because stillness reveals what I have been trying not to face. Jesus’ words to Martha echo into this kind of busyness: “You are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary” (Luke 10:41–42).

In the quiet, I begin to notice the tension within me. There is a light burning brightly in my heart, drawing me toward God. But there is also a part of me—my distracted mind, my secular desires, my longing to be taken care of without surrender—that wants to be lost, unseen, and unable to keep up. It wants to avoid the risk of saying the wrong thing, failing, or being exposed. Yet Jesus calls me not to hide, but to come: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

The Way Back Begins with Silence

I am beginning to see that becoming free from these attachments does not start with more noise. It starts with silence. It starts with observing my thoughts instead of being swallowed by them. “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10) becomes less like a command to perform and more like an invitation to stop running.

Sometimes the way back begins outside—watching the trees move in the wind, hearing birdsong, feeling the sun on my face, or noticing how quietly the earth receives God’s care. Nature slows me down enough to see what I have been missing. It reminds me that God is present without hurry, and that I can turn back toward Him gently, one breath at a time. Jesus Himself “often withdrew to lonely places and prayed” (Luke 5:16), showing that quiet withdrawal can be part of faithful return.

Silence gives me space to remember that I am not my urges, my fears, my distractions, or my failures. I am loved by God. I am invited to return. I am called to let Christ become the center again—not just in theory, but in the tiny choices of each day. “Abide in me, and I in you” (John 15:4) names the deeper goal: not merely to manage distractions, but to remain with Him.

A Daily Practice of Returning

Maybe the goal is not to never be distracted. Maybe the goal is to notice when I am distracted and return. To pause before opening the app. To sit quietly before filling the room with sound. To ask, “Jesus, where are You in this moment? What are You inviting me to see?” This kind of returning echoes the invitation, “Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you” (James 4:8).

Every moment can become a doorway back to Him. Every temptation to escape can become an invitation to pray. Every ache for comfort can become a reminder that my deepest need is not another screen, another purchase, or another opinion—it is communion with Christ. “In your presence there is fullness of joy” (Psalm 16:11), and that joy is deeper than distraction because it is rooted in Him.

So today, I want to practice returning. Returning from noise to silence. Returning from self-focus to surrender. Returning from distraction to presence. Returning from the world’s conception of me to the truth of who I am in Jesus. “Let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus” (Hebrews 12:1–2).

Prayer

Jesus, help me notice what keeps You out of the center of my life. Teach me to be still without fear. Help me observe my thoughts without becoming trapped in them. Lead me away from noise that numbs me and toward silence that awakens me. Let each day and each moment become an opportunity to return to You. “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10). Amen.

© 2026 Bonnie L. Smith-Davis