A wake-up call

My teenaged daughter blessed me with the privilege of sharing this testimony with you through my blog. She wrote it herself late last night. I was incredibly moved to read it and hope you are inspired too!

Testimony

by Anna Ziebarth

I have been struggling with my emotional health for pretty much as long as I can remember. I was having a particularly rough year with various stupid decisions made along the way.

It was the eleventh of December, exactly one week from my sister’s wedding. I woke up that morning at 4 AM with intense stomach pain and feeling like I was going to puke. I immediately got up and went to the bathroom where I promptly vomited. I was still groggy and when I saw lots of dark red in the toilet; I almost panicked, but quickly racked my brain for what I had least eaten. Thank goodness I had eaten tomatoes the night before! Unfortunately, I was still in a lot of pain after vomiting, but I attempted to go back to sleep because I figured I would be fine and didn’t want to wake up my parents.

After about 15 minutes of painful tossing and turning, I got back up to wake up my parents. I explained the situation and my mom quickly got up and took me downstairs to find something to help my stomach settle. Once that was accomplished, I went back to bed and so did my mother. I tried very hard to sleep but the medication didn’t seem to help at all. This time I made it for 45 minutes of tossing and turning before I went back to wake up my mom again. She told me to go downstairs and lie on the couch and she would go and get a heating pad to see if that would help.

As the pad was heating up, she came to check my temperature, because, you know, COVID. Anyways, I didn’t have a fever but I was still feeling awful, so, on a hunch, my mother told me to lie on my back and started gently pressing on my stomach. At this point the pain had changed from what I thought was a bad stomachache to less painful but consistent pain in the lower right side. (This might sound familiar to some people.) When she pressed there and I reacted strongly, she immediately started asking me a few questions like if I had chills, was I nauseated, was the pain in a specific area, etc. After I answered she told me that she suspected I could have appendicitis, because she had experienced it before at about my age. Mom told me to get ready to go to the ER and went to wake up my family to let them know what was up, because at this point it was 7 AM.

I was, in fact, supposed to be working that morning at 7, but spoiler alert, never made it there. My mother, I think, was still waking up the rest of the way because when we got to the Waynesboro Hospital, she parked on the wrong side for the ER. I honestly just found it funny and said we could just walk around because I wasn’t really in pain for a bit. After we walked on some landscaping rocks around the building, we checked in immediately because there was no one else in the waiting room.

After the usual doctor visit things, like being interviewed behind a bright light and being poked and prodded with a variety of things, I was in my own so-called room. Once I was brutally stabbed (I might be slightly exaggerating) and hooked up to an IV, Dr. Kipe came in and gave me the rundown of what some possibilities were and what actions they were going to take. A lot of waiting in between an ultrasound and CT scan later, and Dr. Kipe was back with the final news. (There had only been three other patients in the ER with me throughout this whole time, but for your sanity and mine, I won’t talk about them anymore.) Dr. Kipe told me that I did in fact have appendicitis and that they would be sending me to Chambersburg Hospital to see Dr. Caine, who would evaluate me for an operation. But then he said, and I quote, “Let me rephrase that; You’re going to see Dr. Caine, and you’re going to have an operation.” He saw my Lord of the Rings memorabilia and promptly asked about it, which proceeded into our short discussion on our mutual disappointment in the Hobbit movies, and most importantly, how Legolas was our favorite character. (Apparently his son looks like Legolas and I’ll be honest that I’m totally jealous.)

The nurse came in not too long after he left and unhooked me from the IV and told me I could get ready to have my mom drive me to the Chambersburg Hospital. She left the IV in my arm so that I wouldn’t have to be stabbed again, and I was very glad about that. Thank you nurse whose name I don’t know! On the way out, another nurse offered to stand in for me if I couldn’t be in my sister’s wedding.

I wonder how strange it was for anyone driving by to see a hospital patient, still in a gown with an IV in her arm, walking over landscaping rocks by a highway. Maybe they thought a patient snuck out or something, who knows. At this point I felt totally fine, probably because I had been stuffed with pain and nausea medication. On the way to the other hospital, I found out that my immediate family (including my sister’s hooligan fiancé) was going to meet us in the parking lot to show their support and tell me not to die. Even a really nice older lady that is a family friend said she was coming so she could pray for me before I went in at about noon. The friends I had informed of my condition all wished me well and even offered to bring me stuff, which I politely declined because I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anyways.

When we got on the interstate exit for the hospital, we heard someone honk behind us, and--lo and behold--my immediate family happened to be right behind us! And not only that, but a close family friend was in the car behind them, because he apparently was getting some bloodwork done. That was a hilarious coincidence. After our prayer pow-wow in the parking lot and my sister asking me if I was still sure I wasn’t faking it (I had joked about it that morning), we made our way into the ER.

A few confusions being cleared up later, I was suddenly being escorted to the PACU with my mom by a security guard. Before I knew it, I was on a gurney and Dr. Caine was informing me about what was going to happen next, and of course when she asked if I had any questions, I asked what they were going to do with my appendix. The anesthesiologist and a few others asked me questions, etc., and, boy, did I receive a lot of attention! Apparently, the hospital had been pretty busy and I was the only one there the whole time I was there, so of course I was very popular.

A doctor named Kris talked to me last and asked me if I had ever seen videos of people doing really dumb stuff after having a surgery, and apparently I gave him a look somewhere between are you serious and a death glare. Kris and another doctor found this hilarious and said the face I made was perfect and priceless. After he drugged me up, he told me that it also worked like truth serum and I wouldn’t remember all the secrets I spilled while I was under. He also joked to my mom that she should stay for the first little bit in case I said anything she needed to know.

At this point it gets pretty fuzzy, probably because I was under the influence, but I’ll talk about what I know. I don’t remember being wheeled to the operation room, but I do remember being rolled next to a very skinny operating table that I commented on, and was told people twice my size had been operated on at the very same table. I saw a guy with a beard on my life and he saw me looking at him so he waved at me. Someone, possibly Kris, informed me that this was Wade and that he would be part of the crew as well.

I don’t remember anything else until someone, maybe Kris, asked me if I wanted to see my appendix, to which I immediately answered yes. It was a lot smaller than I expected, about the size of my pinky and nice and flesh colored. After that, when I was apparently being rolled back (though I don’t remember the movement) Kris asked me if I was a senior and I told him, no, that I was a junior. Then he asked about what I was planning on doing after high school and I told him all about my current plan to go to Hagerstown Community College for two years to save money, and then transferring to Elon University, where I will take advantage of their study abroad program. Kris then asked if I knew my major and I told him it was complicated because I apparently didn’t feel like explaining media analytics at the time. I found out later that most of the operating crew was impressed not only that I woke up pretty fast, but that I was easily having conversations, even though I was still half under.

When we got back, they asked how I was doing and I said fine, but obviously I was groggy. I asked what time it was at least two times and both times it was “around two o’clock,” so I was clearly barely awake but apparently still lively. They asked me if I remembered anything and I said I remembered seeing my appendix and not much else, but after my mom came in a bit later, I remembered the other bits and pieces. According to one of the nurses, it was very unusual that I remembered that bit about Wade, and asked me if I knew him and I told her that I definitely did not. One of the doctors then made a joke about how it’s a good thing they didn’t insult me while I was under because I would’ve remembered, which we all laughed at.

After being monitored for about an hour, I was getting ready to head out because the hospital was very full and they needed more beds, so they sent me to recover at home for the next 48 hours with specific instructions for the next four weeks. By the time it was 3:15, I was being pushed on a wheelchair by a nurse on the way to the car. (That same nurse had given me a warm blanket when I came in, so, yeah, she was amazing!) I was finally allowed to eat, but, to my disappointment, I was not allowed to eat anything greasy that night, which sent my pizza plans down the drain. What do they expect anyways when they play Pizza Hut ads in the waiting room all day?

When I finally arrived home, I had a pretty relaxing rest of the day. I was given food (which was really good but probably even more delicious because I was so hungry). My family was warned about the whole “truth serum” thing, and then my mother and I recounted some funny things from our day.

I was surprised to find out from my mom that the staff said I was so sweet and polite, and when a nurse said my mom raised me well I immediately agreed. While I wasn’t that surprised, if you asked any of my friends, they would certainly tell you that I’m not exactly Ms. Polite and Sweet all of the time. I did end up saying a few funny things, like asking if anyone else saw the rhino warrior on the wall, or when I told my mom she looked like a drenched rat after she had gone on a walk in the rain. I relaxed and watched a Christmas movie with part of the family before heading to bed and thinking about the crazy day I had just had, and what I realized because of it.

I’ve been struggling to find what I want to do in life, trying to find a reason to keep living every day, because I constantly felt like no one really cared. Yeah, I knew that God was that reason, and I knew so many logical reasons that he was real and I just needed to pick up my cross and follow him. But, for some reason I was just really stubborn about it and kept “hopping the fence” so to speak. I would be really in it for Christ for about a week, then I would just kind of do my own thing and every once in a while I’d make a really stupid choice like I mentioned earlier.

As I was lying awake pondering, it suddenly hit me. Why did I keep being so stubborn and avoiding what I knew was the right choice to make? I’m convinced God planned all along to use today as a sort of wake-up call. Not only did he show me that people DID care about me in a variety of ways (and I mean seriously, it really amazed me), but he also showed me that it was so worth living.

After realizing these things, God put my favorite verse in my head, Psalm 34:10: “The lions may grow weak and hungry, but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.” As I thought about why he put that verse in my head I realized that I had been weak pretty much the whole day, even when I was stock full of pain medication. I also had been physically hungry almost the whole day, since my breakfast was a 4 AM yogurt and I didn’t get to eat again until at least 4 PM. The last part took me a little longer, but when I figured it out it hit me like a truck full of bricks. THIS was it; THIS was what I was apparently waiting for this whole time.

God let me do my own thing and try and figure things out and waited for me to learn the way I had chosen, the hard way, to learn it was Him I needed to rely upon. I felt him whisper to me saying, “Don’t you get it now, daughter? I’ve always loved you, and so do others in your life. If you would just follow me, you will lack nothing. That doesn’t mean you won’t face trials, but I never promised that. However, I did promise to spread the hope of the gospel through you and that I have plans for you to prosper. Remember Paul and Silas in the prison in Corinth, praising my name joyfully in chains? Remember the books that your mom used to read to you about missionaries across the world giving their lives to share the gospel, and making a huge impact because of it? I have plans for you also my child, which could be becoming an international missionary, but it could also mean so many other amazing things! You just have to keep living, follow me, and you will be made whole and accomplish amazing things for my perfect will. I KNOW you can do it.”

This took me two hours and forty minutes to write from 10 PM to 12:40 AM on the very night of December 11th. I became inspired by God to write this all down, and it was worth every minute. Thank you, Jesus.

The jacket incident: Being both humbled and uplifted by the Word

On a cold and blustery Saturday, I was about to leave a large event to begin a road trip with one daughter when I noticed that the other daughter was not wearing a jacket. I did the motherly thing: I removed my jacket and put it around my younger daughter's shoulders. My husband said, "You'll need that." I responded, "We're stopping by the house on our way, so I'll get a different one." 

I had the brief premonition: I may never see this jacket again. 

Why? The shoulders around which I wrapped the jacket belong to my most creative, free-spirited child. Along with those wonderful traits come others that aren't always so wonderful, including a bad habit of not putting things away. 

It was my favorite jacket. I don't shop much (in fact, I rather dread the process), and I generally don't place high value on clothing. This jacket just happened to be in good condition, a gift from my mother, of high quality, and attractive (in my opinion). All these thoughts breezed through my mind for a fleeting moment, but I still hugged my daughter good-bye and didn't hesitate to leave the jacket around that precious child. 

Two days later, I was going to head out for a walk while waiting for a child to finish dance class. The weather was again brisk, so I inquired about the jacket while we finished up dinner. My youngest child froze with her fork half-way to her mouth. "I'm not sure where it is," she said. "I'm not sure it made it home," my husband added. 

I found myself reacting in a way that surprised me. I was upset. It was mostly internal, but my family could definitely tell. 

I asked questions. I expressed my disappointment. The jacket had been left at a very large public event over 48 hours prior to this dinnertime conversation. I didn't expect to see it again. 

I was surprised at (and ashamed of) the sense of loss I felt. 

I texted the woman who had been in charge of the event, describing the jacket, inquiring whether anything like it had ended up in lost and found. No, nothing like that had made it to lost and found. 

"Maybe I left it in the children's game area," my daughter offered, mentioning that was where she last remembered it. 

I thought to myself that there was no way no one would have noticed it during the clean-up process. 

I decided it was lost. 

My daughter pointed out how very long she had managed to NOT lose the jacket throughout that day.

I was not consoled. 

As we tidied up the kitchen after dinner I ran through Scriptural truths in my mind: It all burns in the end. A generous man will prosper. Do not loan anything expecting anything in return. 

Somehow, I still felt upset. This actually compounded the problem, because I was now feeling guilty for feeling bad about something so temporal. Wasn't I more spiritually mature than that? 

I found something else to wear for my walk. The skies were gray, the air chilly. I dropped off my daughter at dance class and then headed out for my walk, but I first grabbed my verse pack from the front seat. I planned to review Scripture while I walked. 

And there it was: "Good will come to the man who is generous and lends freely, who conducts his affairs with justice (Psalm 112:5)." 

The truth washed over me like a tidal wave, knocking me to my figurative knees. (After all, I was on the road.) 

It was exactly what I needed. 

And, wouldn't you know it, the clouds parted and the sun shone down upon me. (I'm not kidding.) 

"I hear You," I said with a smile. "Thank You." 

I was filled with peace. 

What made the difference? What was the point? 

I knew other verses on the topic where I was struggling. Sometimes that is enough. Often that is how the breakthrough happens. This time, it was inadequate for me. 

Psalm 112:5 was a verse I had just written down two days prior. It was actually assigned to me to memorize (through the ministry where I serve). It wasn't on my radar at all--until it entered into God's perfect timing in reaching me. 

This incident was a clear example of how we need to continually be in God's Word. I have many verses memorized from the past. I am very familiar with most of the Bible. But I don't remember all of it all the time. I need the Holy Spirit to bring continued revelation. And that's going to happen more efficiently if I am actually in God's Word. 

If I hadn't picked up that verse pack, I might have continued to grumble inside. 

I might have missed the chance to teach my children through my own trial. 

When my youngest daughter came out of her dance class, I immediately shared what God had done in my heart. 

The next night, I shared with my family this story and how God had helped me work through my dissatisfaction. They rejoiced with me. And my husband recalled, "Oh, they found your jacket!" 

I laughed, "Funny, I had completely forgotten about it." 

Desperate for God's Word - Gladys' example

My daughter Abigail with her mentor Gladys

On the cusp of adulthood, my daughter Abigail witnessed a sacred moment that I pray will be forever woven into the woman she is becoming.

Abigail graduated from not only high school, but also from Joy El Generation's 4.12 Leadership Training Program (www.joyelgeneration.org<http://www.joyelgeneration.org>) in the spring of this year. Sadly, serious health problems prevented Abigail's mentor, Gladys McCrae, from attending the Joy El event, where students shared testimonies about how God changed them through the program, and mentors blessed their mentees with words, love and often tears. Gladys' absence was sorely felt, yet we knew she was praying, as she so faithfully does.

The day Abigail received her high school diploma, Gladys and her husband were also absent. Health changes had them moving into a nearby assisted living facility, where they could receive the extra help they now required.

I called Gladys to arrange a visit to her new place when Abigail would have a day off from Joy El Camps & Retreats (www.joyelcamps.org<http://www.joyelcamps.org>), where Abigail was serving as a senior counselor.

"When you come,” Gladys requested, “I think I’d like to have Abigail read to me. My eyes are keeping me from reading my Bible, and my Scripture CDs and DVDs are all at the house.” Knowing what a woman of the Word Gladys is, I could hear the longing in her voice. Together, Gladys and I made a plan for getting her Scripture CDs and DVDs to her new place, and we also expressed enthusiasm about our upcoming visit.

Abigail’s first day off from camp arrived and we went directly to visit Gladys at her new home. After seeing their new place and catching up with Gladys and her husband, Leroy, we knew our visit was drawing to a close. Abigail pulled out a Bible to read aloud to her beloved mentor. They decided on Psalm 119.

As Abigail began reading this passage extolling God’s Word, Gladys immediately relaxed onto her walker. There she sat in her chair, oxygen tubes in her nose, head rested on her arms in front of her. Her face was radiant.

Abigail read verse after verse of the precious words… “How can a young man keep his way pure? By living according to your word…” “My soul is consumed with longing for your laws at all times…”

When Abigail stumbled over a word, Gladys supplied it, clearly having saturated her mind with this passage through the years.

Abigail got tears in her eyes and tears streamed down my face for a few reasons:

1) The beauty of God’s Word and the demonstration of this passage happening right before our eyes. Gladys' soul was consumed with longing for His law!

2) The privilege it has been for my daughter to have this godly woman in her life, who has been there for Abigail and prayed for her regardless of her own life circumstances, including major health challenges and life transitions.

3) Gladys’ example. Gladys had gone a week without any form of Scripture readily available to her. Without it, she felt incomplete. When she finally heard God’s life-changing words read, her entire body responded. She relaxed into it, bathed in it, savored it.

I love God’s Word, but do I crave it like Gladys? Abigail memorizes large passages of Scripture, but does she long for it with her entire being? These were questions raised by the experience that day. And my prayer is that not only my daughter Abigail, but I myself, will remember what Gladys demonstrated to us that day: “My soul cleaves to the dust; Revive me according to Your word.”

How are you nurturing your longing for God's Word? Have you soaked in Scripture yet today?

Out of the mountain of despair, a stone of hope

I lay in the comfy bed of my quiet hotel room, praying and wondering what I should do. I had met my sister-in-law in DC for the Reset 2016 event (https://reset2016.com/information/). We had shared this room, and she had left before 6 AM. I would head back home to Pennsylvania that morning, but I didn't necessarily need to rush, since my family wouldn't be home when I returned. 

Should I relax? Read? See if the hotel has a pool? Spend prolonged time with the Lord? 

Then it hit me: the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial. I had wanted to see it even before it was completed. Now it had been open to the public for almost five years, and I hadn't visited yet. "Is that what I should do, Lord?" I asked. 

I knew it was meant to be. Not only that, but I sensed the Lord telling me I would pray with someone there. 

It was July 17, and our nation was roiling with racial tension. Philando Castile had recently been shot in my home state of Minnesota. Alton Sterling had been fired upon by Louisiana police, even while restrained on the ground. Hearts were breaking, anger was flaring, questions hung in the air. Were we in the early stages of the newest civil rights movement? Was it time to address systemic racism? Where did the Church fit into all of this? This had, in fact, been a great theme for prayer during the revival event I had attended just the day before. It had certainly been on my heart and in my prayers well before that. 

I hurried my getting-ready process. I did a little online searching to figure out what it would take to get there, how that would fit with my timeline. Even with the help of the Metro, I would need to do an extra hour of walking, dragging my suitcase with me. So be it. I would do it. It felt like an act of obedience. 

As I packed, checked out of the hotel, walked toward the train station, helped a lost man find his way, navigated the Metro, walked toward the monument, it all felt like a holy experience. I fellowshipped with the Lord, anticipated whom I might meet, chuckled at myself and my unique mission.

The path around the Tidal Basin was gorgeous. I paused to appreciate the view of the Thomas Jefferson Memorial. 

I marveled at how breathtaking the path would be when the cherry trees were blossoming. 

My suitcase bumped along behind me.

Then the monument came into my sight: 

There he was, coming out of the rock, taking his stand. “Out of the mountain of despair, a stone of hope.” (See https://www.nps.gov/mlkm/index.htm.)

It was a powerful moment. 

I was at the monument early in the morning. For Washington, DC, there was a remarkable hush in the air. Only two other people shared the experience with me, a jogger who had turned contemplative upon entering the area, and a woman who also appeared to be reflecting deeply. Both were African Americans. My forebears came to the United States from Germany and Denmark. 

It did feel like holy ground. Martin Luther King, Jr., was a God-fearing man. He was far from perfect. In fact, he made some pretty glaring mistakes for a reverend. But he did a lot of things right too--and he was a prophetic voice for our nation—and the world. 

At a time when our nation appeared divided again, it felt right to stand in this place.

I asked the Lord, "With whom do I pray? With one of these two?" 

I worked my way through the facets of the memorial. I contemplated the meaning of the sculpture's design. 

Tears streamed down my face as I worked my way through the quotes. 

Words like this: 

and this

seemed so needed even in July 2016. My heart was breaking. 

Upon viewing the entire memorial, I sat down on a cool, stone bench, rolled my suitcase beside me, and contemplated, praying. 

The reverie was breaking. The morning stillness was slipping away. A seemingly affluent white family with backpacks cruised through, clearly making a quick stop at this memorial on their way to someplace else. 

Rollerbladers breezed in and out, circling the monument, moving on. Others funneled through, using the path as a means to another place. A park service worker tidied up the area. DC was turning back into the bustling place I knew better. The time was slipping away. I soon needed to leave in order to make it home on time to participate in my regular Sunday volunteer work. 

Suddenly, there was a moment of quiet. I didn't see anyone around. It seemed time to go. I stood up, adjusted my backpack, grabbed my suitcase, and headed toward the exit that would spit me out onto a busy thoroughfare, rather than returning by the lovely path I had taken.

As I approached the exit, the park service employee appeared from along the wall of the memorial. He pulled a rolling trash receptacle behind him, gripped a cigarette in his other hand. 

Our paths were converging. 

"Is it him, Lord?" I silently asked. 

Our paths met. This African American man looked distinguished, yet weary. He had gray streaks in his hair. We greeted each other. 

I went for it. 

"Are you a praying man?" I politely inquired. 

He looked up a little nervously. "No, ma'am," he said as he continued walking. He didn't ask, but his face said, "Why?" 

I shrugged and perhaps sighed. Maybe the smudges from tears were still on my face. "I just wanted to pray with someone about the state of our nation," I said very sincerely as I continued on my way. 

"Wait!" He called to me. "I misunderstood. Yes, I'd like to pray with you." 

I stopped, smiled, thanked him. "I will probably cry," I warned him. He nodded, and I began. I poured out my heart before the Lord for the brokenness in our land, about the ugliness in our hearts, about our craving for justice, truth, grace and hope. I entrusted our land into His holy hands. My voice caught. Tears flowed. There were some long pauses. But we prayed for our land together. And then we moved on. 

He returned to his work. I hurried to my train. Perfect strangers who will never see each other again, but who share a desire for healing and who pray toward that end. 

I walked in the freedom of obedience and from accomplishing my purpose for that morning. And I walked in hope. 

May we continually step together to pray, to hope, to understand, in our nation's capital and beyond. 

Quote memorized Scripture aloud

The end of the year is quickly approaching, as is the end of my Scripture memorization goal. I decided to memorize the book of Jude (see http://thebookoflifeblog.blogspot.com/2015/10/i-am-memorizing-book-of-bible.html), and I will have accomplished this by Christmas.

I have had to be diligent. I have studied the book so that I could maximize the value of memorizing the words. I have incorporated it into my prayers, as I recognize its relevance the world around me and my own life.

And I have practiced saying it aloud, which is crucial.

It did not take me long into my memorization of this longer passage before I realized how critical quoting it aloud was. You see, there is a difference between reciting Scripture in your head and saying it aloud. There are extra connections that need to happen in the brain to be able to get those words out of your mind and through your vocal cords to the benefit of those around you.

While I could fly through the verses during my morning jogs, I stumbled and stuttered a bit as I sought to relay the powerful verses to others in conversation.

Fortunately, I have other people in my life who value Scripture (as well as memorizing it), so I began asking people if I could quote it to them. "May I practice?" I'd ask. Or sometimes people who knew I was memorizing it asked if I would recite it to them.

This all helped me.

Specifically, saying it to others accomplished several things:

1) My mouth became used to the words flowing off my tongue.

2) I was held accountable to my timeline in memorizing.

3) I was able to share the powerful message to those around me.

Just this morning, a dear friend asked me how my memorization project was going and wanted me to quote as much of Jude as I could. As I attempted to share the first 22 verses with power, I saw her face glow, a nod here and there, and support communicated through her smile. When I was done, it was clear she had received the message. "Powerful," she said. "Amen," I responded. We agreed it was relevant to our culture today.

So I encourage you to practice saying memorized Scripture aloud, whether you're memorizing one verse or a book of the Bible. This is your opportunity to minister to others, as well as ingrain these holy words of God into your mind and mouth.

"Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God" (Colossians 3:16).

Prayer for French survivors’ long-term healing

Lord, this morning the terrorist attacks that rocked Paris and the world are still at the forefront of our minds. We are praying for the people of France. We are praying for justice. We are praying for those who lost loved ones. We are part of the solidarity reflected all across social media. Yet we know, Lord, that the solidarity and resolve will soon fade, while, for many, the psychological and physical injuries will not. So this morning we take a moment to consider the future. We pray for the long-term healing that will seem elusive to many who witnessed and experienced the carnage of November 14, 2015. We pray even now for medical professionals of all related specialties (mental health, physical therapy, orthopedics, etc.,) to feel called to work with these survivors. We pray for the survivors to find the inner strength and hope to persevere on their journeys toward healing. And we pray for at least one Christ-follower in each survivor’s life to regularly come alongside him or her to point to HOPE, even when suffering seems overwhelming. Reveal yourself through this journey. Glorify yourself through healing. In Jesus’ powerful name we pray, Amen. 

For those of you who follow the book of life blog regularly and appreciate my prayer posts, I'd like to direct you to http://www.prayingtochangetheworld.com/. I created this blog specifically for these types of prayer posts. In the future, that is where I will post them. Please consider subscribing by email. 

I am memorizing a book of the Bible

 While visiting Bethlehem Baptist Church with my family this summer, we were surprised by a very unique sermon: Andy Naselli quoting the entire book of 1 Corinthians.*

That was it: just quoting the entire book of 1 Corinthians. After all, it takes about an hour. And it’s God-breathed Scripture, so what else need he add?

Naselli quoted it well. It was more of an emphatic dramalogue than a dry recitation. We were drawn into the power of the message. It was long, but it was awe-inspiring.

As we left the church and headed to our vehicle, I said to my kids, “I think I’m going to memorize a book of the Bible.” They perked up, intrigued.

“Jude,” I said.

“Mom!” they responded, making faces at me.

(For those of you who don’t know, the entire book of Jude is 25 verses.)

I was teasing my kids, but the idea stuck with me. After all, I firmly believe in memorizing Scripture. In fact, the spiritual discipline has been a consistent part of my life since I was 18.

Historically, I have had better success with memorizing shorter passages than long ones (though I have memorized chapters before), but I also believe in keeping things fresh by trying new challenges.

I thought and prayed about the idea for several weeks and then decided to go for it. I would memorize the book of Jude. Who knows, I wondered, perhaps it would inspire me to try a longer book eventually.

I am taking it slowly and steadily: two verses per week. I am on verse 10. Because my memory is not as sharp as it once was (I’m thankful I memorized lots of Scripture when I was younger, because those verses are a firm part of me now), I have to meditate on it regularly in order to make it stick. But that, my friend, is the greatest benefit of this exercise.

Though I have read Jude many times through the years, I cannot recall having studied it intently. By committing it to memory, I am learning it quite well. In fact, the first two verses alone thrilled me:

Jude, a servant of Jesus Christ and brother of James, To those who are called, beloved in God the Father and kept for Jesus Christ:  May mercy, peace, and love be multiplied to you.

Perhaps it’s only a greeting, but look at what that first verse tells us about ourselves: we are called, beloved in God the Father, and kept for Jesus Christ! These truths merit deep reflection and inspire joy.

Verse 2 provides a beautiful blessing I have shared frequently since memorizing it. What a blessing indeed to pass on our desire that mercy, peace and love be multiplied to someone we care about.

As Jude progresses, it addresses false teachings and illustrates a contrast between the error of heresy and the truth of Jesus Christ. This is very relevant to our culture today and has provided me much food for thought and motivation for prayer.

So I may be memorizing the fifth-shortest book of the Bible (http://overviewbible.com/the-5-shortest-books-of-the-bible-in-order/), but the truths of this oft-overlooked book are becoming part of me in a way I would have missed if I continued my pattern of briefly reading it and moving on to Revelation.

So, what do you think? What will you memorize next?

*https://www.hopeingod.org/sermon/1-corinthians