yesterdays and todays

I'm nearing the end of the journal I started in November of 2016 and this is the post I wrote at the time I began this one. I sit here in awe of all that God did just a few short months later. I pray that I'll never forget that He is always active, whether I can see it yet or not.

This is what God says, the God who builds a road right through the ocean, who carves a path through pounding waves,

Then God who summons horses and chariots and armies--they lie down and can't get up; they're snuffed out like so many candles:

"Forget about what's happened; don't keep going over old history. Be alert and present. I'm about to do something brand new. It's bursting out! Don't you see it? There it is! I'm making a road through the desert, rivers in the badlands."   Isaiah 43:19 The Message

Today is ‘begin a new journal day’ for me.  I have been putting it off for a week or so, and now it’s time.  Seriously, I have not journaled for a week because I didn’t want to write that last entry. Am I the only one or do any of you ‘fellow journalers' feel the same weird struggle, or even loss, when you come to the end?  It just feels so hard to close the back cover on the last year of all that has ran through the maze of my mind, onto the pages of my precious white book.  So that you can get a picture in your mind, I should tell you that I am a Moleskin girl, through and through. I see so many cute journals when I’m out and about and I always consider getting a different one but I just can’t do it!  It’s Moleskin only for me!  When I was first introduced to Moleskin I started with black. And, if I’m really honest, I chose black only partly because it wouldn’t show dirt or wear and tear.  There was also a part of me that felt like most of what went into those pages was dark.  The dark places of my mind moving from thoughts in my head to words on a page.   Not just that my thoughts were always dark, but somehow they represented me.  That somehow I’m dark. My insides unclean.  Here’s the cool thing though, about 3 years ago, I took a leap and bought a white one.  I know, risk taking to the max, right?!! Not really, but my Jesus tells me that I’ve been made clean and so I decided to step out in that truth rather than the same old tape that plays in my head.I think that is the beginning of winning the battle that happens in our minds, living out of who we really are, regardless of what we say to ourselves about it.So, now, when the time comes for a new one, I march right into the local Barnes and Noble and search for my new friend.  She’s stark white, has a place in the front  for my contact information in case somehow she gets misplaced (oh my word, I can’t even imagine that happening!) and pages and pages of empty lines waiting for me to share my life. She even has a pouch in the back for any treasures I come across that I might want to keep.My journal, like yours, becomes an extension of me.  It feels like it is a friend that gives me a listen whenever I need her.  Always available, always the same lined pages waiting for my thoughts, my fears, my prayers and my joys. As well as all the Scriptures, poems, book titles and quotes. She’s always ready to receive my words, whether they are neat and tidy between the lines or frantically written diagonally, right beside all of my doodles of flowers and hearts and pictures drawn that give a face to what’s going on inside me.This time is different than last year though.  There is a newness to this beginning.  I am flipping through the pages with a slowness, noticing where I have been, and how far I’ve come over the last year. Not only noticing but searching.  Searching for all of the tools I have been given that have helped me live more fully, one day at a time.  I don’t want all of those gems to stay closed up between the hard covers. I want to bring them into my tomorrows.  I want to continue to revisit them and use them for the upcoming days, months and years until they became a part of me and I no longer need reminding.It reminds me so much of two of my boys.  The oldest and youngest boys in our family have a gift for playing music.  Not only a gift, but a love for it.  I remember when they got their first guitars. (David is the oldest, 12 years older than Tate, our youngest) David got his at around age 13 or 14 and about 15 years later, Tate got his.  I remember when they were learning to play.  Starting with just a few chords, with pauses between each note to look down and place their fingers in their proper places, always making sure that they got it right before strumming the pick down the strings.  It was so fun to watch and listen to them learn and grow.  I loved it as they would show me the calluses beginning to grow on the tips of each of their fingers. I was so proud of their tenacity and couldn’t wait for the day that they would no longer feel pain after only a short time of practice. Now, as I watch them pick up their instrument, they play so effortlessly.  They no longer watch to see that their fingers land correctly. They only look down when they are trying out new things. New ways to play the same notes, new rhythms to the way they strum.  They get lost in it. Now, without even thinking, they play beautiful melodies and sing their hearts out. And their fingers no longer hurt.  The muscles in each finger have been trained, the tips of each finger covered with calluses that testify to their hard work.  But this didn’t happen overnight.  There were countless hours of doing the same thing over and over again.Practicing because they knew there was more.As I recall the countless hours hearing music coming from behind their bedroom doors, stopping what I was doing to celebrate when they came out to show me something new and encouraging them in their frustration that it wasn’t happening faster, it makes me smile. Never once did I feel like I was frustrated because they weren’t “getting it” faster.  Never once did I watch them return to their rooms for more practice and feel disappointed in them because it was taking so long.  Nope! I was just proud of their accomplishment so far and glad that I got to be a part of their journey.I want to be like them. I want to continue to put into practice what I’ve learned. Doing so until my the muscle memory of my mind is truth. Truth about who God says he is and Truth about who He says that I am.  Living in the wonder of it all. Not giving up, but sticking it out.  Watching and waiting for the muscles of my heart and mind to get into such a new rhythm that I would actually have to work hard to go back to my old ways of thinking and living.Therefore, anyone who hears these words of mind and puts them into practice is like a wise wo(man) who built his(her) house on the rock. Matthew 7:24I want to live on The Rock!And, I am so grateful for those close ones who have watched and listened to me practice using my tools, just as I did with my boys and their guitars.  Watching me as I stumble along trying out new rhythms. Listening as I have shared my sacred places. And being patient with me, rather than disappointed that I am not playing full melodies yet. They have been more than just patient, they have hope. Hope for a future that drowns out my dark places and fills them with light. Oftentimes I latch myself onto their hope and make it mine.Today is a good day. A day of remembrance.Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Phil. 3:12