Yesterday, my pastor, Tommy, read to us from a journal he had kept in 1993. In this journal, he was passionate to be different, to avoid becoming the "crotchety church guy," to preach the gospel to those who needed to hear it above all else, without getting caught up in petty church issues or politics. After he read, he wondered, "If this was my dream, how did I become the crotchety church guy? When did I stop having this passion, and just started going through the motions instead?"
This instance of his journal-reading happened to coincide with the end of a Bible study I have been doing with my girls' Cottage Group - Beth Moore's A Heart Like His - "Seeking the Heart of God Through a Study of David." At the end of the study, she asks us to review our journey through the study. Well, that's going to take more than just 40 minutes in reflection, but I did find something interesting as I looked back over the first few days.
The first thing the study had us do, on Day 1 of Week 1, was to write a prayer of commitment. Here is what I wrote:
"Lord. My commitment doesn't mean much. But you can have it for all it's worth."
What I wrote doesn't strike me as much as how I wrote it. Usually my handwriting is sprawling, sloppy, because I can't write as fast as my thoughts dictate. But here, my writing is miniscule, tidy.
Later, the study asked us to "write a brief prayer regarding any desire you have to be with God 'heart and soul.'" Here's what I wrote, in the same tiny font:
"It's been a while since I've sought you for Your sake, not mine. Help me rediscover the joy like a child."
I think the small handwriting shows how strange it felt to pray, like I was writing a letter to someone I didn't know. Both of these prayers remind me of where my heart was at the time I wrote them: willing to pursue Christ, but fearful and careful and awkward. This was also a time when my devotional life was very dry and my entire spiritual life was social, not individual (see the end portion of my November 13 post, when I stopped being depressed and started pursuing God).
My prayers were tidy and awkward and embarrassed. It was weird writing them down in a study book where weekly we would go over our answers together. I didn't want anyone to see how strange my prayers looked, how impersonal.
But now I look back at that woman who was afraid to talk to God just a few months ago, and I am so proud of her. Because she had a genuine heart. She knew she needed to pursue God. She didn't know how. She didn't feel terribly passionate about it. But she tentatively, carefully reached out a hand to him. That's all it took, and God grabbed her and gave her the passion and love and inability to go a day without spending time with him.
I have almost filled up my current journal. I look forward to reviewing it - seeing the things I was convicted to pray for, the things I resolved to be passionate about, the things God taught me and the times he broke me and the times I suddenly said, "I feel like I learned something!" in wonder (think the end of Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World and ignore the second part saying "...which would be great if I wasn't dead").
One more thought: I'm always reminding myself to go back and remember God's past faithfulness to bolster my faith today. I usually think, "Okay, when was the last time God was blindingly, gloriously faithful? Was there any time he was almost audible, or that I felt so spiritual, or I was so overcome I cried?" Instead of trying to think of these big, bright moments, I want to start reviewing my journals. They are a record of his faithfulness, as well as a record of the context that helps me appreciate his faithfulness.
My records of his faithfulness are in the study on David, and in this blog, and in my email records, and in my handwritten note journal that I sometimes write pages in a day and sometimes skip a few weeks. Where are your records?
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