Category Archives: Journal

December has been a very challenging- but rewarding month. God is taking me on a personal journey and while it’s exciting, it’s also very draining and emotionally difficult sometimes. During my quiet time, I felt led to study Acts. It seemed I needed to remind myself of my roots (Acts is the 1st book of the Bible I studied verse by verse), as well as the roots of what “church” is really supposed to be. I started with Saul’s conversion in Acts 9, and never made it past verse 22. Specifically, I parked on verses 10-17: (quoted from NIV)

In Damascus there was a disciple named Ananias. The Lord called to him in a vision, “Ananias!”
“Yes, Lord,” he answered.
The Lord told him, “Go to the house of Judas on Straight Street and ask for a man from Tarsus named Saul, for he is praying. In a vision he has seen a man named Ananias come and place his hands on him to restore his sight.”
“Lord,” Ananias answered, “I have heard many reports about this man and all the harm he has done to your saints in Jerusalem. And he has come here with authority from the chief priests to arrest all who call on your name.”
But the Lord said to Ananias, “Go! This man is my chosen instrument to carry my name before the Gentiles and their kings and before the people of Israel. I will show him how much he must suffer for my name.”
Then Ananias went to the house and entered it. Placing his hands on Saul, he said, “Brother Saul, the Lord—Jesus, who appeared to you on the road as you were coming here—has sent me so that you may see again and be filled with the Holy Spirit.”

God used this familiar passage to reassure me that we don’t always know what we think we know. (Yeah, I realize I should’ve figured that out a long time ago!) Ananias was prepared to hear God- when he heard his name in a vision, Ananias wasn’t like Samuel; Ananias knew immediately that it was the Lord calling him. He answered right away, “Yes, Lord?” (I think it’s worth noting that he said that instead of “What now, God?”)

God gave clear instruction, and while Ananias didn’t refuse or directly offer excuses like Moses did, he still wanted to be sure God knew what He was asking Ananias to do. “But God, you do realize this guy wants to kill people who follow you, right? And God, this isn’t just me being paranoid- everything I’ve heard and seen tells me this is a bad idea. It’s NOT a good situation. Do you realize how badly this idea of yours might turn out, God?”

That’s kind-of my M.O.- not to defy God and tell Him what I won’t do, I just want to be sure He understands MY perspective. MY fears. My reasons for thinking He’s asking me to do something that doesn’t make much sense.

So how did God respond when Ananias voices his concerns? “Go!” (“Ananias, what you don’t know is that this man is already changed. The situation is completely different than what you’re expecting. I’ve chosen to use this very man you think will destroy my church- and you. I know what is going to happen. I know what he’s done to my people, and only I know what he’s going to face as a result. Thanks for the concern, Ananias, but I’ve got this one under control.”)

The thing that struck me most is this: when I have similar conversations with God, I am acting just like Ananias did. I assume that I see the entire situation, I presume to understand who, what, where and how. Like Ananias, I overlook the fact that God is always working behind the scenes: softening hearts, changing the variables, working in all things for the good of those who love Him. However, like Ananias, I can trust that when God gives me specific instruction it’s because He’s been working specifically to make a place for me to be effective.

Why is it so easy to forget that God never sleeps, that God is always at work, that nothing is impossible with God? Why is it so easy to presume that what we think we know is all there is to know? Why do we act like “walking in faith” means knowing exactly what is in our future? Faith is not only “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see,” faith is trusting that God is in control and we can walk in places where we know we do not see the entire situation or understand the details of what God is orchestrating.

We will never be able to comprehend, or even imagine how God works in every situation, understands every variable and knows ahead of time every possible outcome, and ultimately chooses the best possible one from an eternal perspective. We just need to walk in faith, knowing that God loves us and He won’t set us up to fail Him. He’s working in ways we can’t imagine, using unlikely people to do extraordinary things. The really cool thing is that we might just be that unlikely person He’s chosen!

I’ve tried to find it this year, I really have. Ironically, I think I’ve tried harder than any other year. I refused to stress about having things perfectly done, I did my best to be intentional about Advent, but I still couldn’t find the joy. I kept thinking it was just around the corner; get the kids out of school, let things slow down- I’d feel it then. Nope. I’m just distracted by the enormous open house we’re hosting for my husband’s colleagues- once that it over, it will “feel” like Christmas. We’ll bake cookies, listen to Christmas carols, relax and watch movies as a family. Um, no. Nothing but more feelings of frustration and sadness. What is my deal? I have no excuse; I know the joy and hope that is Christmas, I understand the magnitude of celebrating the birth of my Savior, and furthermore, I didn’t even set one foot in a mall this year! What could possibly make me feel so sad right now?

Christmas Eve came and went, with the only “tragedies” our blessed family experienced was finding one of my 4th grader’s frogs dead and not finding the copy of “Night Before Christmas” that we read every year. Still no excuse for the heaviness that seemed to envelop me.

Christmas morning was white, the presents were well chosen, our family was healthy, happy and warm, but still I had that nagging sadness, an ache that I couldn’t shake or ignore. Finally, I took some time to be alone with God. I confessed my frustration and allowed myself to explore my sadness instead of trying to shove it away. I would love to say that I became filled with joy, that all I needed was a little space to reflect, but that isn’t true. What happened was something different; it seems giving myself permission to accept my feelings at face value was the key to unlocking a dimension of the Nativity I’ve never considered.

Christmas really is the season of joy and hope, but below the surface of pretty pictures it’s also all kinds of emotions being covered by grace. Jesus was born in the midst of life interrupted. Even without Gabriel’s announcements, Mary and Joseph would’ve faced a mandatory pilgrimage ordered by the government. What about Bethlehem? The heavenly hosts weren’t the only visitors in town the night Jesus was born. It wasn’t arriving without a reservation that caused Mary and Joseph to find no room at the inn; there simply wasn’t any room. Families were displaced, travelers were weary, routines were disrupted. Many things were not going as planned. And yet, here is where God touched my heart specifically as he reminded me: God’s plan was right on schedule.

God wasn’t rushed, he wasn’t adapting to an unexpected situation, he wasn’t undone by what looked and felt like chaos. Finally, I got it. No, it still wasn’t the “Go Tell it on the Mountain” joy; it was the wonder of it all. I found the peace that comes from understanding we don’t have to “feel” like Christmas for Christ to come. We can be weary and burdened and sad on December 25 without dishonoring God. He didn’t come because the world was ready and eagerly anticipating him, he came because life is messy and the world is full of reasons to feel sad.

Bethlehem wasn’t prepared to welcome a king, Mary must’ve still been trying to wrap her brain around being chosen as the mother of God’s Son, Joseph didn’t attend childbirth classes, and the shepherds weren’t standing around discussing their views on the angels of heaven. Life was simply being lived. Days were stretching out without pretense and without having “acceptable” emotions imposed upon them. People were sad, tired, worried, happy, healthy, sick- all of the feelings involved in living another day. Then, in God’s perfect way and according to his perfect timing, Emmanuel! God is with us!

It wasn’t just into the muck and mire of a stable nursery, but down into the muck and mire of our emotions that Jesus came. This year I was reminded that God doesn’t require my joy or expect me to feel like a Norman Rockwell painting in order to prove I’m “ready” for Christmas. The irony is that being prepared means being willing to be honest and face my raw emotions as I trust that Jesus came for me in spite of my failings. Actually, he came because of my failings.  Feeling compelled to belt out “Joy to the World” as I bake beautiful cookies or serve the poor isn’t a sign of being ready for Christmas. Opening myself up to really feeling is the key to being ready- sad is ok. Tired is ok. Frustrated is ok. Joy? That’s a bonus!

My life breath is found in words- first God’s Word, then my thoughts and interaction with the application of it. There is a need, a desire, and an urgency I feel about words; the drive to write, reflect, and apply is wired into the core of my being. So many thoughts are constantly swirling inside myself- rarely do I have the quiet space necessary to process, to craft, to order the words into a tapestry that speaks to others. And so I “free-write” in my journals, meaning that the only thing I do is allow thoughts to fall out of my brain and onto the page, unedited and unorganized.

Yet as I reflect on the memory of my Grandma “making me” keep a journal on our trips to Michigan, I am reminded of writing can manifest itself completely differently in the same exercise. Grandma’s travel journals served as benchmarks of progress- departure times, clean rest stops, good places to grab lunch. Her journals, filled with decades of marking time: date, time & activity, are exactly the opposite of mine. My travel journals are reflective, an exploration of the interplay between where I’ve been and who I’m becoming. Travel seems to create a sense of suspended animation, the state of being caught in the journey between preparation and arrival.

The odd realization that my Grandma’s journals would reveal no insight into her emotional journey doesn’t lessen my wish to have them today. Somehow being able to see time marked by her own hand, to read minutes of the only travel they ever made outside their daily life, to see minutes recorded as though the very act of writing them would make them linger, would be strangely comforting to me.

The thing about Grandma’s journals is that she kept them year after year, and was even known to bring along old ones for reference. And yet, here in this collage of memories is the undeniable truth that she always went to the same place at the same time, taking the same route, year after year. If you only travel a road you know well, it takes more effort to observe new things. If you travel the same road but once a year, it takes great effort to only observe things unchanged.

I feel that my life is an unrevealed path that only God understands. Dates, places and experiences are noted in my journals to provide context, but remain the only static element in my writing. Unlike Grandma’s need to faithfully record every major mile marker along the way and the time we passed it, my writing is the journey itself.

I now see that there is also value in Grandma’s seemingly passionless recording of time, date, and place. Her journals were literally to the minute: “7:02am-pulling out.” Yep, she really said that. The funniest thing to me, as I am a self-proclaimed “journal snob” who judges value by binding, line and size, is that Grandma only used little two-by-three inch spiral notebooks- the kind you find practically free in any store, and so small that there wasn’t even room for her to write “pulling out of the driveway.” She only used a single line for each entry.

The first time I travelled to Michigan with them, Grandma proudly presented me with my own journal and proceeded to teach me how to use it. I spent the entire week erasing writing that was too big, and trying different strategies for making my volume of thoughts fit on a single small line. After growing frustrated from trying to fit the ocean in a paper cup, I forged my own method. I see now that trying to demonstrate or explain my free-writing journal technique would likely have been equally futile and puzzling to my Grandma.

Grandma’s writing became quick and efficient records of where the family was on their annual trek to Michigan. And yet is that so different from my own journal? I may write 500 words at a time and fill page after page before I finish, but am I not still trying to capture, compare, and record where I am in time and how that compares to where I expected to be?

Remembering Grandma’s journals somehow comforts me to realize a larger truth, that even as my daily life is completely different on the surface, I am still a woman seeking to keep a record of my journey. The difference lies in our voice, and our perspective. Grandma viewed their annual drive from Indiana to Michigan as the only journey worth noting. My literal travel gives me the space to reconsider and contemplate the daily journey through life that I record on a regular basis.