To Read and Remember.

This morning was one of the best I’ve had in quite some time. This morning, I skipped the 6am workout and took a little extra time with our Jesus. I drank some extra coffee, but I sipped it slow. I prayed long and I prayed intentionally. I chose my words for Him with precision, and wrote them like a letter. I read His Word aloud, and savored the words as they rolled off my tongue.

He was near. So sweetly near.

When I walked into my day, I wondered what it was that provoked this kind of morning. I mean, I know He met with me. I know He chose to give me the gift of time together in the early hours of the day, but there’s something else…

I think I has a lot to do with last night. Last night, I wasn’t tired. So I grabbed my journal and opened to a blank page. But I didn’t have much to say. So I turned the pages back … back, back, back until I was at the beginning of the leather bound book. And there I started to read. I read my old words from the final days of last summer. They were hard days, and I remember them well. But what I didn’t recall is the profound loneliness that was my daily experience. I had forgotten the tears that accompanied long days as a nanny and the longer nights spent in isolation. I had forgotten the way I wanted community but couldn’t find it no matter where I looked. And last night I read and remembered.

I had forgotten the early days of seminary; the days in which I didn’t know who would be my community, where I would find Church, when I would feel at home. I read of the uncertainty of what was to come and yet a surprising certainty that I was exactly where I was called to be. I read the slow story of how I met Molly and Anne, when I learned their stories, how we became friends. I read my thoughts on my first week at Community Church. I read the hidden emotions from my first day of classes. I read and remembered.

And then I looked up. I looked around. And I realized how delightful these days are. I saw again how He faithfully answered my pleas for community. It is as if He plucked me out of the mire and set my feet firmly on solid ground (Ps 40). I realized that once I got dressed for the day, I would spend it in the library studying what I love most, with some people I love best, in the place that is more home to me than ever before.

And I think that was part of what made this morning so sweet. There’s something about recalling the narrative our God has written us that causes us to trust Him in the present moments. Looking back at His faithfulness, reminds us to move forward in faith. It reminds us that it’s safe to follow Him, because He has been steadily for us all along. There was something about hearing the story, my story, all over again that brought me near to Him in a sweet, reminded way.

I’m certain to forget again, certain to neglect. But when I do, I’m sure the evidence will be on the pages. And hopefully then, too, I will be able to read and remember.