I can so remember years, and years, and years ago when I was a child, I was having difficulty learning to ride a 'two-wheeler' bicycle. It was very distressing, but one night I dreamed that I climbed aboard my bike and just 'took off ' without any problem at all. The very next day, I told my Dad that I wanted to try again, and sure enough, I succeeded the very first time. Therefore, when I read the following article, it brought back those memories. - Maggie

What Dynamic Imaging Can Do for You - by Norman Vincent Peale

There is a powerful and mysterious force in human nature that is capable of bringing about dramatic improvements in our lives. It's a kind of mental engineering that works best when supported by a strong religious faith. It's not difficult to practice; anyone can do it.

Recently it has caught the attention of doctors, psychologists and thinkers everywhere, and a new word has been coined to describe it. That word is imaging. Imaging—the forming of strong mental pictures of desired goals or objectives—is positive thinking carried one step further.

In imaging one does not merely think about a hoped-for goal; one "sees" or visualizes it with tremendous intensity, reinforced by prayer. Imaging is a kind of laser beam of the imagination, a shaft of mental energy in which the desired goal or outcome is pictured so vividly by the conscious mind that the unconscious mind accepts it and is activated by it. This releases powerful internal forces that can bring about astonishing changes in the life of the person who is doing the imaging.

To illustrate, let me tell you three true stories.

It's wintertime in Cincinnati a generation ago. A cold wind chills the crowds hurrying along the busy street. A young boy—maybe 11, maybe 12—has stopped outside the building that houses the city's newspaper, the powerful and respected Cincinnati Enquirer. The youngster is not too warmly dressed; his clothes are obviously hand-me-downs. Shivering a bit, he is staring through the big plate-glass window, watching the feverish journalistic activity inside. One figure in particular has caught his eye: a burly man in shirtsleeves seated at a central desk. A green eyeshade shields his eyes from the glare of a light bulb dangling above his head. An unlighted cigar is clamped between his teeth. His desk bristles with scraps of typescript impaled on spikes. Papers overflow from wire baskets. The black headlines of various editions spill onto the floor around him. Activity. Confusion. Chaos. But power emanates from that desk, and the boy in the street can sense it. He knows that this man is in command.

A huge policeman saunters past, twirling his nightstick. Impulsively, the boy turns to him. "Officer, who is that man in there? The one with the eyeshade and the cigar?"

"Him?" The blue giant looks down indulgently. "He's the editor, sonny. The editor of the Cincinnati Enquirer, that's who he is."

The policeman moves on. Finally the boy goes down the street, looking just as he did before. But he is changed. Inside his head a scene is forming. Not just a vague or casual daydream, but a vision of the future that has all the reality, all the intensity of the present. The scene is a replica of the one behind the plate-glass window, with one all-important change. The occupant of the editor's chair, 30 years hence, is himself.

It is Roger Ferger, a poor youngster with no connections, no advantages, nothing except an image so powerful that it will bend all the laws of probability until they conform to an even stronger, though hidden, law. He goes home with that image fixed in his head. When he says his prayers that night, he relives his dream and asks for help in achieving it. Night after night he does this, unaware that by imaging himself so intensely in that editorial chair, and by reinforcing that image with prayer, he is touching the kingdom of God within himself and releasing forces more powerful than he knows. I know this story because Roger Ferger related it to me when he was not merely the editor but also the publisher and the owner of the Cincinnati Enquirer.

For the second story we again go back through the years—to one of the poorer sections of an Ohio town. A young girl is bending over a metal washtub. She is one of eight children, the daughter of a miner. As she washes her father's overalls, staring now and then out the grimy window at the bleak, familiar symbols of poverty that surround her, an image comes to her. Diamond-clear in her mind is the picture of a college campus, tranquil green lawns, ivy-covered buildings. Graduation ceremonies are in progress, and she sees herself in cap and gown receiving a parchment scroll. She feels the soaring happiness, the sense of achievement, the pride . . . But what kind of impossible dream is this? No member of her family has ever gone to college.

Mary Crowe has prayed for the chance to go, but there is no money for such things. The Great Depression has the country by the throat. And yet, the image of herself receiving the parchment scroll is so vivid . . . Consider, now, what happens next. Mary Crowe receives a summons; her parish priest would like to see her. "Mary," he says, "quite a while ago one of our parishioners gave me some money to be used to educate some deserving young person. I've been watching you, and I've decided you are the one. These funds will make it possible for you to have a four-year scholarship at Saint Mary-of-the-Springs. I know you'll make a wonderful record there."

Again, passionate dream into concrete reality. Burning image into tangible substance. Just coincidence? No, because Mary Crowe told me that—incredibly—when she first went to Saint Mary-of-the-Springs and saw the campus for the first time, she recognized it as the campus seen in her vision. I can't explain that; Mary Crowe couldn't, either. But she did go to college there. She studied hard, got top grades. As graduation approached, she began to think about a career. She knew of a case in her own run-down neighborhood where a life-insurance policy had stood between a poor family and total disaster. So she decided she would like to become an insurance salesperson.

In those days almost no women sold insurance. It wasn't done. It was a man's world. But Mary Crowe "saw" herself as a successful producer. She visualized buyers whose lives would be protected and helped by the insurance they bought. She fixed all this in her mind with tremendous clarity and vividness. Then she went to look for a job as an agent for one of the largest insurance agencies in the city. The man in charge of hiring turned her down. Flat. Women on his staff? "Go away," he said to Mary Crowe. "You're wasting your time. And mine."

Mary Crowe went away, but the next day she came back. Again she was refused. Day after day this went on. Night after night, on her knees, Mary Crowe prayed for patience and persistence and the strength to follow her dream. She closed her mind to doubt. She would not let it in. Finally the man in charge of hiring was impressed with her dogged determination. "All right," he said. "We'll take you on. But no salary. Commissions only. So go on out and starve."

Mary Crowe went out and started selling, door to door. People listened, because she made them feel that she was interested in helping them—as indeed she was. And she didn't starve. She became the number-one salesperson for that company and a legend in the insurance business. She became, in other words, just what she had imaged herself to be—a stunning success.

You may have read the third story, Harry DeCamp's, in Guideposts (May 1980). Harry was also in the insurance business. Quite successful at it, too. But the day came when that success meant little because he was told that he had cancer of the bladder. Inoperable cancer. When he asked how much time he had to live, the doctors couldn't tell him. They gave him some painkillers and sent him home to die. Harry had never been a very religious man. As he put it, "I had only a nodding acquaintance with God." He thought about praying, but he didn't know how. "I knew God was there," he said later, "but He was some mystical Being, far away. It didn't seem right to start begging after ignoring Him for so many years."

Then two things happened in rapid succession. Someone sent Harry a get-well card and wrote on it, "With God all things are possible." (Matthew 19:26) Somehow that phrase stuck in Harry's mind. It kept coming back to him. Then he happened to read two stories that inspired him. One was about a seriously injured soldier who recovered from near-fatal wounds by creating mental pictures of himself as a healthy, whole individual. The other story was by a cancer victim who claimed that total believing and total faith were the keys to answered prayer, that Christ meant exactly what He said when He told His followers "What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them." (Mark 11:24, my italics)

Harry DeCamp decided to believe with total conviction that God could do anything, and that constant prayer backed by real faith could put him in touch with the enormous healing power of the Almighty. In addition to that, he decided to visualize the healing process taking place in his body in the most dramatic form that his imagination could supply. He began to image armies of healing white blood cells in his body sweeping through his veins, attacking the malignant cells and destroying them. A hundred times a day, two hundred, three hundred, he went through this imaging process. He worked at it constantly, day and night.

Harry DeCamp also kept on with his chemotherapy, although he was convinced he didn't need it. Six months later, when he went back for a checkup, the malignant mass was gone. Which was responsible for Harry DeCamp's dramatic recovery — the chemotherapy or his intense imaging effort? Some modern physicians would say both.

A noted cancer specialist, Dr. Carl Simonton, in conjunction with Dr. Stephanie Matthews-Simonton, has written a book, Getting Well Again, in which he expresses his conviction, based on experience with hundreds of cases, that we all participate, whether consciously or unconsciously, in determining our own health. Dr. Simonton is convinced that imaging is a powerful and effective tool available to victims of cancer or any other illness.

Many years of observing and counseling people with problems have brought me to the conclusion that this technique is effective in just about all the important areas of living. Imaging is not a magic formula that simply, by some kind of mental trick, brings desired results. But when accompanied by discipline, determination, patience and prayer, it can open doors to problem-solving and to goal-achievement. The thing to remember is that an image vividly conceived and stubbornly held has a reality of its own.

Once a young man spoke to me in Los Angeles. He had a dream of going into electronics, building a small factory, and he described it in detail. He had it all worked out in his head. "But," he said, "I don't have capital and I don't have any credit. I don't know if I'll ever get it built."

"But it is built," I told him. "You have already created this factory. It exists — in your mind."

"It's just a vision," he said. "Just a dream."

"That's great," I said. "That's the first step and the most important step. Never tell yourself that your factory doesn't exist, because it does. You've already built it. It's there, imaged in your consciousness. The next step is to get it out of your head and onto a piece of ground somewhere. And you'll take that second step as surely as you took the first. It's just a matter of patience and persistence and determination and time."

"You mean it's built?" he said incredulously. "You mean I've already built it? Gosh, that's an exciting idea!"

"First the dream," I told him. "The dream or image worked out in detail. The image so vivid that you can see it like a three-dimensional picture glowing in your mind. Then the hard work and the discipline and the willingness to take risks and the refusal to let go of the dream or let it fade. Put those elements together and you can't miss. You can't fail. You'll see."

He went away, and I never expected to see him again. But about a year later, when I was greeting people after a service at Marble Collegiate Church in New York, he came along in the line. "Remember me?" he said. "Just wanted to say two words to you. It's built!"

"Wonderful!" I said to him. "But remember, it was built all the time!"

Great athletes use imaging constantly, sometimes without being fully aware of what they're doing. Have you ever watched a champion high jumper just before he makes his jump? Usually he stares at the ground for a long moment before he begins his run. And in that moment he's visualizing himself sailing across the bar. He's flinging his image over the bar, you might say, and if his body fully accepts that image, it is probably going to follow.

Years ago I heard a story about Jim Thorpe, the great American-Indian athlete whose legendary feats in sports are still revered and remembered. With the rest of the American team, Thorpe was on his way to Europe by ship to compete in the Olympic Games. Each day the athletes would work out on the ship's deck, some running, some jumping, some lifting weights. The scene was one of furious activity. One of the coaches was astonished, therefore, to come upon Thorpe one day sitting on the deck, leaning back against a lifeboat, eyes closed, not even in his track suit.

"Thorpe," the coach said sharply, "what do you think you're doing?"

The big bronzed athlete opened one eye. "I'm watching myself win the decathlon," he said. Imaging. Thorpe had never heard of the word, but he had adopted the technique and he knew it was more valuable than any amount of mere physical preparation. He was seeing himself win the decathlon in advance. And when the event finally took place, the image became the reality.

Well, you may say, suppose two or three other athletes from England or France or Germany had employed the same technique — what then? In that case, I would say, the contestant with the greatest physical endowments and the most vivid image of himself being victorious would win the event. But if the physical endowments were equal, then the owner of the strongest will to win, as reflected in that self-image of being the winner, would come away with the prize.

My friend W. Clement Stone, a well-known Chicago insurance man, publishes a magazine called Success Unlimited. Not long ago it carried a fascinating article about a young graduate student named Steve DeVore. Steve, a psychology student, was reading a textbook on biofeedback one wintry afternoon and at times idly watching a TV program about championship bowling. Steve was an occasional bowler whose highest score was an unspectacular 163. But now, watching the champion bowlers reel off strings of strikes, he began to wonder if he might not somehow use the images on the TV screen to program his own mind and possibly increase his bowling skills. So, blocking out all other thoughts and making himself as relaxed as possible, he tried to impress on his memory the images of the top bowlers making their very high scores. When the program ended, he played the images back in his mind, just as if he had a videotape inside his head. Finally, still concentrating intensely, he went out to a nearby bowling alley. There again he replayed his mental tape, telling his mind to direct and control his body and telling his body to become an instrument of his mind. Steve DeVore then proceeded to bowl an unheard-of nine strikes in a row for a score of 286 out of a possible 300. In his second game he bowled seven strikes. Then his concentration faltered, and his game began to slide downhill. But DeVore was so impressed with what imaging could do that he started his own company, called Sybervision, to market a system of thought to athletic teams and individuals. The results, according to some professional coaches who have tried it, are amazing.

Imaging can also relieve emotional problems such as guilt, depression, lack of confidence, and grief. Suppose you are carrying a burden of guilt for some past mistake or transgression. Suppose you have tried the time-tested remedies — acknowledging your fault, making restitution, asking God to forgive you — and still feel unworthy and troubled. This load of unresolved guilt is draining strength and purpose from you. Imaging can help. Try visualizing a blackboard on which you have scrawled a jumble of disconnected words and phrases, or a tangle of mathematical problems with wrong answers — in short, a sorry record of mistakes. Then image a shining figure, the Lord Himself, sweeping a sponge or a damp cloth across that blackboard, wiping it clean, preparing it for you to make another, stronger, better effort. Or image yourself as an exhausted traveler, disheveled, lost, confused, coming to a mighty walled city where all the gates are shut. You feel you have no hope of being admitted, perhaps even no right to be admitted. But suddenly a gate swings open and Jesus stands there, arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture, and you are taken in, cared for, loved.

Run these picture-sequences over and over in your mind. What you are imaging is forgiveness and acceptance, and if the vision is vivid enough, a great sense of peace and well-being may follow.

Suppose you are a victim of depression? Picture that doleful word spelled out in a gigantic electric sign on a mountaintop, with letters 10 feet tall. It can be seen at night for miles. Then image the first two and the eighth letters suddenly extinguished. What's left? Two dynamic and vigorous words: press on!

Are you facing some challenge in your job where you doubt your ability to cope? Image yourself meeting the challenge, solving the problem — and give thanks for that solution in advance. Picture yourself filled with a surge of confidence and energy that sweeps away doubts and fears. Image your mind coming alive with fresh, new energy, crackling with new concepts, teeming with new ideas. If you paint these images vividly enough, they may affect not only you but also the person or persons you are dealing with.

In Australia a couple of years ago, Ruth and I met a dynamic and attractive woman named Lorraine St. Clair. She was the Australian representative for a company that specialized in reproductions of antique jewelry. Lorraine had conceived the idea of displaying these items in a real antique breakfront where prospective customers could look through the glass and see pieces of jewelry on black or red velvet — the effect was stunning.

Later Lorraine came to visit us in New York. She was very interested in our church and in the way we lived our lives. She said she had no spiritual training herself, and she wanted to find out more about such things. Ruth told her about tithing and the spiritual rewards it brings; this seemed to fascinate Lorraine and she became a tither herself. She told us that her company wanted her to go to Europe and try to establish a market there for the jewelry. She had no connections or contacts there, but someone had told her that if she could persuade one of the principal stores to take this merchandise, others would follow. So Lorraine fixed this goal in her mind.

She began to image herself meeting the key marketing people and persuading them to carry the line of jewelry. She focused on this vision with great intensity before she left Australia and while she was flying to Europe. Upon arriving, she called a man who was a chief buyer for a well-known store. She told him that she had studied his merchandising techniques (this was true) and admired them very much. She also told him about herself and said that she had a line of jewelry that she hoped to establish. To her amazement, the man said that he would see her. Result? Just as she had imaged it. Instant success. Now how often would the chief buyer from a great store offer to see an unknown vendor? Not very often. But Lorraine had imaged precisely that outcome. Had something reached out and influenced the man on the other end of the telephone wire? Again, who can say?

Imaging can also help at a time of bereavement. Suppose you are torn with grief because a loved one has died. Surely it helps to image or visualize a future reunion with that person in "the land that is fairer than day." If the person was old or frail or feeble, picture him as vigorous and vital, as he was in the prime of life. Image the wonderful conversations and activities you will share when you are with him once again. Picture his eyes full of joy and happiness because he is reunited with you — forever. Once or twice I have had a kind of vision of my father and later one of my brother after they had left this earthly life. In both instances they looked vibrant and youthful and happy. They seemed to know that I could see them, too, because they raised their hands in the old familiar gesture of greeting and affection as if to say, "Don't worry about us. Everything's all right. We'll see you later."

Those experiences, I think, were a form of imaging carried one step further into a reality we are seldom allowed to glimpse. But that reality is eternally there. Almost two thousand years ago our Lord and Savior said, "For, behold, the kingdom of God is within you." (Luke 17:21) I have heard learned theologians debate what Jesus meant by this, but my own interpretation of His words is simple. I believe He was telling us that since we are made in God's likeness, the wonderful attributes of the Creator Himself — creativity, power, justice, compassion, love — all the shining qualities that make up His kingdom are locked inside every human being.

No matter who we are, no matter how far we stray, there is this spark of divinity within us. The problem that faces every one of us, the great challenge of life itself, is how to release those attributes, how to liberate them so that they can permeate and determine our way of life. I believe that imaging is one of the devices, like prayer, that a loving God has made available to us, His children, to enable us to tap the riches of the Kingdom within.