What Were You Thinking?

 

What Were You Thinking?

 

Not that you don’t already know this, but as it turns out, our words and works weave a visible thread that others can trace and judge. Our outward expressions of who we are fall under the scrutiny of cultural norms, legal boundaries, and the watchful eyes of those within our orbit. Society sets its standards, and we are held accountable to them—our speech tempered by expectation, our actions constrained by consequence. However, there is a realm far more elusive, a sanctuary of the self where no external law holds sway: our thoughts. These silent musings, unshackled by the world’s gaze, seem invisible, private, ours alone to shape and harbor. But are they as hidden as we would like to believe? To the One who matters most, our thoughts are as nakedly observable as our words and deeds.

 

Alma 9:4 CE paints a sobering picture of this reality: “Our words will condemn us, yea, all our works will condemn us; we shall not be found spotless, and our thoughts will also condemn us, and in this awful state we shall not dare look up to our God. And we would fain be glad if we could command the rocks and the mountains to fall upon us, to hide us from his presence. But this cannot be. We must come forth and stand before him in his glory, and in his power, and in his might, majesty, and dominion, and acknowledge to our everlasting shame that all his judgments are just, that he is just in all his works, and that he is merciful unto the children of men, and that he has all power to save every man that believeth on his name and bringeth forth fruit meet for repentance.” Here lies the crux of our accountability—not just for what we say or do, but for what we think.

 

Our words carry weight. They can build or destroy, comfort or wound, and they leave echoes that others hear and judge. Our works, too, stand as monuments to our choices—deeds that shape the world around us and invite praise or condemnation from those who witness them. These are the public face of our souls, bound by the structures of human society. Laws dictate what we may not do; cultural norms nudge us toward what we should say. But thoughts? They dwell in a wilder country, restrained only by the fragile fences of our own conscience, will, and moral compass. We might speak kindness while harboring resentment, or act generously while nursing pride. To the world, these contradictions remain unseen, masked by the polished veneer of our outward behavior. Yet to God, no mask suffices. He sees the heart as clearly as the hand, the mind as plainly as the mouth.

 

This truth is not new. Long before our time, in the days of Noah, God looked upon a world drowning in its own corruption. Genesis 5:9-10 RE records His piercing observation: “And God saw that the wickedness of man had become great in the earth. And every man was lifted up in the imagination of the thoughts of his heart, being only evil continually.” The thoughts of humanity had turned to a relentless tide of evil, unchecked and unrepentant, until they spilled over into deeds that defiled the earth. God saw not just their actions, but the very imaginations of their hearts—dark currents that shaped their world. The outcome was a flood, a cleansing judgment that spared only Noah and his family, who found favor through obedience and faith. That ancient mirror reflects our own peril: when thoughts run wild and wicked, they do not stay hidden. They fester, they spread, and they invite consequences that no mountain can shield us from.

 

Denver has taught, “there are no private sins. We have only the illusion of privacy.” Divine omniscience upends our assumptions about secrecy. We often treat our thoughts as a safe haven, a place where we can indulge fleeting fantasies, nurse grudges, or entertain doubts without consequence. After all, who will know? But Alma and Noah’s story remind us that God knows. Our thoughts are not a secret refuge; they are a stage, illuminated by His gaze. And if they will condemn us alongside our words and works—if they can corrupt an entire generation as they did before the flood—then managing them is not optional—it is requisite. To neglect this inner discipline is to leave ourselves vulnerable before a judgment that pierces every layer of our being.

 

For me, the weight of this truth is staggering. “We can’t be found spotless,” the scripture warns, and in that realization, we shrink from the prospect of facing God. Our words may falter, our works may falter, but most of all, our thoughts—those unruly, untamed currents—may betray us. Who among us has not thought the unthinkable, even if only for a moment? In that “awful condition,” the impulse is and will be to flee, to call upon stones and mountains to shield us from His presence. Yet there is no escape. We must stand before Him, stripped of pretense, and confront the righteousness of His judgments. Our thoughts, once believed to be our own, will be laid bare alongside our deeds and declarations, each one a testament to who we truly are.

 

But the scripture does not leave us in despair. Amid the warning lies a strand of mercy: “He has all power to save every man that believeth on his name and bringeth forth fruit meet for repentance.” God’s omniscience is matched by His compassion. He sees our thoughts not merely to condemn, but to invite us to transform them. Repentance is not just a change of action or a softening of speech—it is a renewal of the mind, a deliberate effort to align our innermost selves with His will. Our conduct, the outward proof of that repentance, becomes the bridge between what we think and what we do, a lifeline to His saving power—just as Noah’s ark bridged the faithful to safety amid a world undone by its own heart.

 

So, what were you thinking? The question is not idle curiosity but a call to vigilance. Our thoughts are not invisible, not inconsequential. They are as real to God as the words we speak or the works we perform, and they will stand as witnesses in the final reckoning. We cannot rely on cultural norms or legal codes to govern them—only our own resolve, guided by faith, can shape this hidden terrain. To God, there is no distinction between the seen and the unseen; all is laid bare. And in that light, we are tasked not just to guard our tongues and hands, but to master our minds, that we might stand before Him not in shame, but in the hope of His mercy.

 

“Ah…Houston – we have a problem.”

 

Signed

John The-Not-So-Beloved