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If you drove to work or school today, you probably can’t name all the decisions that it took to make the drive successfully—all the turn signals, blind-spot checks, accelerations, and even hitting the brake at varying degrees of pressure, all happening simultaneously to accomplish specific and complex maneuvers. In fact, if this drive is part of a daily routine, you may often make it from one place to the other without really having noticed the drive itself—or, as my friends have put it, “without even thinking.”

But wait—we can’t drive without thinking! The fact is that we do think about every decision we make. We just don’t always give much attention to the ones that have become “second nature.”

It actually takes a lot of practice for us to do something without giving it our attention. When you first learned to drive, for example, making each of the decisions described above was a very conscious effort, maybe even overwhelming to manage. For me, though I was excited about the prospect of driving, it was a daunting task. It was not until I had enough practice under my belt that driving became easier, and now it is a very intuitive activity—almost like an autopilot.

We do this with all the activities that make up our routine, not just driving. With that in mind, it’s helpful to closely examine this question: How much thinking goes on in our day?

This question is of the utmost importance to the practice of Christian Science, which explains the direct relationship between our thought and our experience. In Science and Health, Mary Baker Eddy wrote, “Hold thought steadfastly to the enduring, the good, and the true, and you will bring these into your experience proportionably to their occupancy of your thoughts” (p. 261).

I have often heard people say that they wish they had more time for prayer. I think of prayer as practicing the right kind of thought; “holding thought,” as Mrs. Eddy puts it. Rather than turn signals, blind-spot checks, and braking, in prayer we practice recognizing “the enduring, the good, and the true,” which in turn brings the God-governed reality into our experience.

Prayer itself never needs to become routine or habitual, but the act of looking to God for inspiration can become a habit.

We do a lot of thinking. Shouldn’t we practice holding those thoughts that yield an enduring, good, and real experience? Otherwise, we may seriously consider that our consciousness is filled with thoughts we don’t want there to begin with. After all, every day we encounter advertising, media, and conversations that reinforce a premise in which life is not perfect or complete. And whether we are paying direct attention to this premise or not—just like we may not pay direct attention to every car on the road, but we know they’re there—we may be accepting or reacting to a flawed and incomplete view of life without a fight.

Rejecting all the material thoughts that we are confronted with on a daily basis may seem like a daunting task, but like anything else, it can become an intuitive activity. This is why prayer is important: because it is the only way in which we practice replacing imperfect models and opinions with those revealed by God. Of course, prayer itself never needs to become routine or habitual, as it always leads us to fresh, new ideas and spiritual perspectives, but the act of looking to God for inspiration can become a habit. As in driving, where each situation faced demands a unique solution, prayer affords us vital inspiration and experience.

About a year ago, I experienced firsthand the practical benefits of this practice. I was not being as careful as I should while unpacking a set of knives that had been gifted to my fiancée and me, and at one point I felt something puncture my wrist. Before I knew it, there was blood everywhere. The scene was scary, like so many I had seen in movies, and it seemed out of control. I nearly fainted, but suddenly a thought came to me: “This isn’t my life.” I heard this as distinctly as if it were a voice speaking to me, and immediately understood what the thought meant: “This image or situation isn’t my life; this is a worldly perspective. God is my Life!”

With that, the bleeding stopped instantly and I no longer felt faint. I still had a wound on my wrist, but the situation was not out of control or dangerous. I calmly applied a bandage and cleaned up the floor and counter. Most important, I realized that I was not confronting a material circumstance but a set of generally accepted beliefs: that a wound causes bleeding, and that bleeding from the wrist can be fatal. The solution was not found in a desire that God would miraculously save me, but in an understanding of God as Life—complete, whole, imperishable.

Prior to this experience, I had been practicing thinking about myself more spiritually, to the point that the rejection of the material suggestion was innate—as though I were on autopilot. When the picture of the injury in front of me contradicted the practiced thought, the response was as natural as hitting the brakes at a red light. Over the next week I received prayerful support from a Christian Science practitioner, and the wound healed completely.

In direct proportion that good occupies our thought do we see God, good, in our experience. When his disciples asked Jesus, “Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?” he answered, “Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him,” and he healed him (John, chapter 9). Looking at the same scene as his disciples, Jesus never saw evil or sin, but rather the opportunity for good—and that recognition was so powerful that it brought to light “the enduring, the good, and the true.”

Mrs. Eddy wrote: “Jesus beheld in Science the perfect man, who appeared to him where sinning mortal man appears to mortals. In this perfect man the Saviour saw God’s own likeness, and this correct view of man healed the sick. Thus Jesus taught that the kingdom of God is intact, universal, and that man is pure and holy” (Science and Health, p. 476). Here is both the necessity and potential of prayer: to practice holding a correct view of man and the universe as Jesus did. He neither consulted with nor reacted to human theories with regards to weather or disease, but rather discerned the thought needing correction, thus calming the storm and raising the dead.

So it is worth considering how much thinking goes on in our day, and more important, what we are thinking about. The choice is not whether or not to pray, but whether to let our consciousness—and our experience—be filled to the brim with God’s great goodness. Happy praying!

Carlos A. Machado lives in Houston, Texas.

Carlos and I were engaged at the time of this incident. We were opening a set of very sharp knives, and I witnessed him cut his wrist on one of them. Being relatively new to Christian Science, I thought it best to leave the room as I battled reactions to the sight of the blood and thoughts of stitches. Carlos stayed focused and began praying. Shortly after, he came in with a bandage and assured me that everything was under control. To my relief, the wound was healing and we did not have to visit the emergency room. This was truly an inspiring healing that I witnessed. Carlos and I have been married a little over a year now—thankfully without any other kitchen incidents! (Aside from the occasional creative “husband dish.”)

—Misty Richards