Do any of you ever go back and read some of your old blog posts? If you’ve been blogging for a season or two or ten, then I imagine you’ve collected a few hundred by now. I don’t often re-visit my own. I’ve printed them off and organized them in three-ring binders over the years, but rare are the occasions when I peruse their contents. But today I did. Today I reached back over time to a year ago today, March 8th, to see if anything flowed from my pen on that occasion.
I wanted to know what was going on in my mind and heart in that season. To see how things have changed for me… where I was back then, where I am today in relation to my back then. I was delighted to discover that on March 8, 2010, I was in the middle of writing my Breakfast on the Beach with Jesus series; in particular Part Five: Eating What We’re Served. It’s one of my favorite series of posts that I’ve written. One of my favorite “talks” to give when asked to speak at a corporate gathering. Why?
Because, even as the conversation was intimate for Peter and Jesus some 2000 years ago, it’s one of the most intimate talks I’ve ever had with God as well. In Part Five, I write about some of excuses we offer the Lord for missing out on our morning meals with him.
1. Too intimate; a heart is often exposed when dining with the Master.
2. Too picky in regards to what’s being served; menu is often confrontational when receiving from the Master.
3. Too busy; schedule is often postponed when sitting with the Master.
And I am struck by my own reminder. When I wrote those words a year ago, I wasn’t struggling with my morning breakfasts with Jesus. In fact, there weren’t many days back then when I would willingly break from the fire to tend to other things. Even when I did, I carried the fire with me. I was all about Jesus and more than willing to eat whatever he was serving.
Today I weep with remembrance. Today I think upon that season… how rich and full and expectant I was and how, now, I long for nothing more than to return to those moments. To feel like I felt. To be fed by his hands. To know the warmth of a fire that nearly scorched me because of my close proximity to its flames. It was a beautiful season for me, even though my family was in the midst of an impending move. Even though we were undergoing a test of our faith in regards to church life. Even though change was imminent, requiring our strong willingness and obedience to acquiesce to God’s requirements. Despite the swirling chaos around me, God’s fire was burning brightly within me, and the Red Sea in front of me was nothing more than a hop, skip, and a jump to my “next.”
That was then, and this is now, and I wonder about that fire. That intimacy. That breakfast, and that Jesus. I want to go back there and know now what I knew back then. It’s not that the intimacy, the breakfast, the flames, and the Jesus aren’t the same, aren’t available and were only reserved for that moment in time. My mind and heart know differently, believe differently. I know that my Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. That what he had for me back then is what he has for me right now.
But my feelings aren’t there; not today. Not in the same way they were back then. Certainly I know what it is to be in relationship with Jesus; my faith has held, despite the recent assaults to my flesh. But those assaults have taken their toll, friends; they’ve robbed me of some of my passion. They’ve dulled my senses, broken my stride, and forced me to look at life through clouded lenses. It’s not what I’ve asked for; it’s simply what I’ve been given, and today I weep for a former season that didn’t hold so much loss.
Today I remember March 8, 2010. I remember those dining room windows and HWY 581 that served as my backdrop for my writing. I remember the urgent delight I felt when sending the kids off to school knowing that my time with Jesus was soon to arrive, and then out of that time, the overflow of a few words would make their way to print. I remember sensing that all was well with my soul and that I was firmly, resolutely walking smack dab in the middle of God’s will. I remember saying to my husband that no matter the road blocks ahead, this is what we must do, this is how we must live. That we were on the right path. That…
God’s plans for our lives have never felt so good… so right… so much of a “faith” thing.
And so we stepped out in faith. And now here we are, still anchored in faith, but in a different place; a different season; a different backdrop; a different test; a further trust.
Life doesn’t feel as good as it did a year ago. Faith doesn’t as well. But it is what I must do. Faith is how I must live. It’s what I’ve been named, Faith Elaine. God’s plans for my life feel jumbled… off kilter… a more difficult abiding than in previous seasons. We’re still having breakfast on the beach, Jesus and me, because my memory serves me well. And my memory tells me that an early morning fire with food from the Master’s hand is a good start for my everyday. But it’s been a long time since I’ve known the fullness of that last time… the “sure and certain” of my year ago.
Thank God for a record of remembrance… for a few years’ worth of written testimony to the reality of seasons and the ebbing and flowing of emotion therein. They buoy me along, speaking of a history that I am prone to forgetting, reminding me that faith is the anchor that holds me despite all the changes that come my way. I don’t know what I’ll be writing about a year from now, March 8, 2012. I don’t know what twists and turns, mountains and valleys await my up and coming year. But I hope that when I arrive there, that I’ll have a year’s worth of penned remembrances to look back upon that recall the steady faithfulness of my God. I hope to still be pulling my boat on shore and running to the fire to receive breakfast from his hands.
It’s what I plan to do. It’s all I know to do. It’s simply the best I can do. Accordingly, I’ll keep doing.
Doing breakfast.
Doing faith.
Doing Jesus…
believing that with all of the doing, my feelings will catch up with my year ago to become a rich stone of remembrance for the seasons to come.
You are a good people to “do” faith with, friends. In a season when so much else around me is changing, it’s a comfort to have the consistency of your presence in my life. I pray for you many intimate times with Jesus by the fire in coming days. Don’t forsake your breakfast moments with him. He has come to do life with us, impart life to us, live as life within us. To know that kind of life is to receive from his hands each day. Don’t wait for your feelings to urge you toward the shoreline. Go in obedience. He stokes the fire in anticipation of your arrival. As always…
Peace for the journey,
~elaine
