The assignment was to memorize Psalm 13:1-2. And 1 Corinthians 10:13 too, but I sort of knew that one already. So Psalm 13 is where I turned first.
How long, O Lord?
Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long shall I take counsel in my soul having sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long will my enemy be exalted over me?
The assignment was given by a pastor we've had the privilege of meeting with twice a month to talk through ministry, marriage, and parenting challenges. These meetings have been a gift of grace. Who knew there was a colleague nearby who was gifted and trained to come alongside of us for encouragement, wisdom, and support? We would now consider him a friend - a friend unafraid to step into the challenging role of mentor and counselor. We're planning on a near-future double date with he and his wife. That's how encouraging it has been.
But difficult, too, as you can imagine, and as the assignment reveals.
So, I started memorizing. I said them aloud and copied down the verses to get them in my head and in my heart. The memorizing was not difficult. I even decided not to stop at verse 2 (and on a fairly sad note), since the lines were coming so easily. Like a familiar cadence, the words and stanzas seemed oddly second nature.
Today I realized why.
I have the week off from teaching my 10th-ish graders today at Classical Conversations. When we plan the teaching schedule for the year during the summer months, I always advocate (beg?) for taking a break the week after Easter rather than the week of Easter. Holy Week is so wonderful ~ my favorite week of the year ~ but also very full. I'd rather teach that week, packing in one more thing, and then take a true breather from teaching and extra church activity the week afterward.
So today, the day I would have been teaching, I've spent the morning reading God's word, praying, and reflecting. I even re-read my entire current journal which began in September. Not at all riveting, it was six months of what seem to be the exact same cries, pleas, and prayers for renewal, healing, restoration, and hope. John Piper says that the one thing that causes him to question the existence of God is the slowness of his own sanctification and victory over sin. I'm not sure that would be my first answer (I am, sadly, not that godly in my perspective), but his response is certainly confirmed in the pages of my own journal. Sanctification and the putting off of sin are slow in my life.
I have friends who burn their journals when they finish filling one up. And though I love archiving, I guess I can understand that somewhat. I just can't bring myself to do it yet, and don't know that I ever will be. So, for those who may read them in the future, here's a warning: Each one is simply more of the same. (Honestly, there is probably more regress that progress.)
When I got to the October 15th entry of my current journal, there was Psalm 13. I had written out each stanza with my own prayers interspersed.
I remember it now. On October 14 of this past fall, I was driving to meet a friend for lunch an hour away. The tears had been brimming since I'd awoken that morning, and in an attempt to not spill them all over her during our Panera Bread lunch, I plugged my phone into the auxiliary cord and found the Psalms on my Bible App. (Taylor Swift does not do the trick in moments like those.) Psalm 1-13 played aloud in the minivan as I drove along Rt. 2 headed for Eastern MA. After Psalm 13, I just hit repeat over and over.
Consider me and answer me, O Lord my God.
Enlighten my eyes or I will sleep the sleep of death,
and my enemy will say "I have overcome him,"
and my adversaries will rejoice when I am shaken.
The words of David echoed my own longings and frustrations, and yet the gratitude of my own heart as well. I must have replayed it a dozen times. No wonder it seemed such a familiar rhythm this spring. No wonder the memorizing came without effort. It was already there.
Five months ago, God had, unbeknownst to me, filled my heart and mind with a prayer that He would use in a very specific way this month. A Psalm which He would literally assign me to memorize as a way to properly respond to the challenges at hand.
But I have trusted in your lovingkindness
My heart shall rejoice in your salvation
I will sing to the Lord, because He has dealt bountifully with me.
If this isn't proof that He deals bountifully with me, I don't know what is. His seemingly harsh dealings with me were exactly what I was tearful about, and yet there He was providing the words to pray in such a situation. And then reminding me of it today.
No, He has not forgotten me. (I really thought He might have.)
Yes, He has answered me and prevented the death of my hope and faith. (Not in the removal of the pain, but in the way through it.)
I can trust.
I can even rejoice.