Ever say this:
"God is good... all the time. All the time... God is good."
I was first introduced to this saying when I attended a wonderful church whose Pastor liked to say the first part and have the congregation answer back the second half. I loved it, and him, and that congregation. Frankly, I hope we all gather in Heaven one day and say that to each other again; for old times sake.
I guess I am kind of sentimental.
Recently I had cause to spend a fair amount of time digging through drawers and files and boxes. I spent hours trying to decide which items were worth saving and which were not. It was a bit of a process.
I went through notebooks with page after page of gleanings from various sermons and seminars and speeches, trying to decipher my notes and determine their worth (or lack thereof ). I reread Bible verses, quotes and book excerpts written neatly on index cards or scrawled on pieces torn from church bulletins and store receipts. And gum wrappers. (Remember those?) I had collected name tags from events and seminars that I had attended over the past two decades.
Next was the big box: I spent hours sifting through thick stacks of notes, cards, drawings and letters that I had received from my children and their children. There were sweet sentiments, heartfelt artistic attempts and more memories than I could handle. (Obviously they all ended up in the "SAVE" pile.)
And then came the journals.
Early in my teen years I began to journal. Every night I would get out my big,fat, olive green, paperback copy of The Way (the hip version of the Living Bible), read a bit and then write in my spiral bound notebook "journal". It was the most consistent, self-imposed thing I did in my life at that time.
(And it seemed a tad more productive than crying myself to sleep at night.)
As I was preparing to get married I did a big "clean out the old... make room for the new" and there was no question of me saving my journals. I didn't want anyone ever reading that stuff!
(But, of course, now I wish I had them.)
Since then my journaling as been less consistent and has taken on forms beyond the "diary"of my teen years.
Within the same journal I have prayer lists and answers to prayer along with scriptural musings, questions and gleanings. Some pages contain prayers written on behalf of my kids or a friend. While others are long, rambling prayers, written out like love letters to my Abba.
I gathered my eclectic collection of journals, dropped into my comfy reading chair, blew the dust off and settled in for a nostalgic turn through the words I had recorded.
I was not disappointed.
The words worked as paintbrushes as each page revealed a piece of my history, brush strokes forming a tear drop here, a smile there; a home bursting with laughter and babies and conflict and babies and sadness and babies.
Many of my prayers were raw and hard and brought me to tears all over again.
Honest to the core, I could feel the hurt, confusion, weariness that engulfed me at times.
There were situations that seemed to have no clear resolution... ongoing times of frustration and hurt.
And I spared no chance to let my Abba know how I felt about it.
Over and over again I questioned His ways and purpose.
But often before the close of my prayer, I had heard the sweet voice of His Spirit and I buckled, prostrate under the Love that was spoken, the care that was promised. I was repeatedly reminded of :
my purpose (to bring Him Glory)
my position (buried under the bloody righteousness of Christ)
my place (right where He put me).
Page after page I saw God at work; not as quick as I would have liked, not the answer I would have liked, and some prayers linger, waiting for resolution.
It may come... it may not...yet.
Closing the back cover of the last journal, I found myself saying out loud:
"God is good, all the time."
"All the time, God is good."
Amen.
