Before this morning, it had been awhile since I'd opened these journals, written primarily as part of my "quiet times" in undergrad, beginning my sophomore year. I tend to idolize that time in my life as the season in which I was most disciplined, most faithful to God in my personal life , and growing the most in faith. Since graduating from Wheaton, my memories of those years have haunted me, a reminder that at one time I was more disciplined, more faithful... and more in God's favor than I am now. Twisted belief, I know, but deeply rooted.
But I had forgotten how much angst filled those years. Browsing through my journals this morning, I was shocked to look at my soul and see desperate striving rather than deep confidence in God's grace. Now, I am aware that living in Grace is a fundamental struggle for me, but I had forgotten how much I was trapped in despair, striving, and guilt during those years I have idolized. I confess, I feel a bit shaken! I know I've said it before, but I am glad it is Lent - I suspect I have some idols of which to repent.
As I was reading my journals, I came across an overlooked angsty poem (not even sure it could be called a poem - maybe a poetic fragment). It's a bit rough, but I'd like to share it anyway.
Father, where is the prayer I know should beGod's grace -- great mystery.
Subsuming me, consuming me
like that old burning bush?
Is this word a prayer?
or just me, communing with my ache,
hollow poetry -- self-cannibalism,
self-starvation?
Give me those prayer lenses and
the frame of Your Son--
The new perspective for the new creation.
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