…if we are faithless, he remains faithful, for he cannot disown himself. II Timothy 2:13
In speaking with my son recently about estate matters, he said, “Mom, I don’t want anything from you except some of your books and your journals.”
That gave me pause. I have forty-two years of journals, and, although I have general memories, I certainly don’t recall everything I’ve said (or done) throughout those years. I thought it would probably be a good idea to begin a review. What I read left me awed.
The first journal was initiated during a particular year with lots of breakings and disappointments. There were records of occurrences and then reflections on God’s presence. Over and over I saw God’s presence through the darkest of times. And they were times I would never wish on anyone…
When unexpected expenses arose, God had unanticipated resources. Friends seemed to rally from nowhere, and my family encouraged me in the Lord. Even with a limited budget, the children had invitations to camps, to parties and recreational events, and we were even treated to a family vacation that year. Needs that had never arisen before were addressed in seemingly supernatural ways. A job opening I’d not anticipated was perfect for my skills and schedule; a scholarship provided access to further education; and renters brought in needed income.
Things I had forgotten through the years stood out sharply from this present vantage point. Of course, there were frequent references to the grief we were experiencing, but God’s grace brought comfort and assurance that he did have good plans for us, plans for a future and a hope. He was always pointing me forward.
God’s provision was and has been remarkable. But that was not what struck me so forcefully. In those numerous journal pages, over and over I saw the faithfulness of God. Through many painful days, it seemed almost impossible to go on. So many nights seemed to have no horizons to anticipate. And yet, even when I was faithless, he remained faithful.
He didn’t get tired of my sorrow, my frustration, my finger-pointing, my “what-ifs,” my impatience, my weakness, and my self-orientation. In fact, he was a friend who stuck closer than a brother and never left or forsook me. He didn’t toss me out—he just kept working in me.
And that’s only in the first of the journals. I don’t really remember, as I’ve already said, what’s between all the following pages, but I am confident of the ending. And I think it will be okay for the children to read the journals.
Father, there is no way any of us can detail all your goodness toward us, your children. Thank you for giving us eternity to express our gratitude. AMEN.