When we were cleaning out our basement a couple weeks ago, I found several tubs full of things we hadn’t even touched since we moved out of Des Moines. As we went through everything, I filled up a new tub with things that needed to be brough upstairs to our office for me to go through and save or file.
The other day, I decided I’d better get started on cleaning out that tub I hauled all the way upstairs. There were some extra pens, notepads, and a few much more important things. There were two Bibles (one is my husband’s, and one is my old one) and my prayer journals.
The prayer journal I hadn’t written a word in for the last three years.
When we started attending church faithfully (meaning every Sunday no matter what), I got involved in a small group. Each week we would go around the room at the end of our small group time, and discuss any prayer requests we had. Then we would all make an effort to pray for each other throughout the week. Two of the people I became good friends with from that small group were Jeni and Shelby. In this prayer journal, I wrote down prayer requests for both of them, as well as all the other people in my group. Every morning, for several months, I got up an hour early and wrote in this journal. Mark and the kids would still be sleeping, and it would be my quiet time to reflect on everything going on in my life. I would write and write pages full of thought and prayers in this journal.
Sometimes I would write down certain Scriptures our Pastor mentioned in church or a relevant saying from my fortune cookie at dinner one night. I would see billboards and TV commercials, and if they said something that mattered to me, I wrote them down. I wrote down prayers about us trying to get out of debt, I wrote prayers about my husband’s job and my kids staying healthy and strong.
Now I want more than anything to get back to that. I feel like without a church, and without a group of women like the one I had at my old church, I don’t know where to begin. I want to get back to the person I was four years ago when I started this prayer journal. It was the closest I have ever felt to God in my entire life. It sounds weird to say that, but its true. I can read through the pages and pages of that journal, and remember every single thing I was praying for. I can take a red pen and check off all the things that I asked for and prayed for that really did happen. It’s amazing how many prayers of mine were answered.
I can read through the prayer requests of those women in my group (as well as my own) and remember every single conversation we had on those Wednesday nights years ago. My fingers drift over the pages where I wrote about one group member losing her father to cancer, or someone wanting prayers sent up about a doctor’s appointment they were nervous about. I read prayers I wrote for a group member that was having a difficult pregnancy, and some for a friend that was struggling to find a school for her special needs child.
Some of us asked for prayers about finding a new job, or that we would find a way to be less stressed in our lives. All of us issues in our lives that were very heavy on our hearts, but with that small group– the burden would be lifted, if only for a couple hours each week. I looked forward to that Wednesday night small group so much, and even now– almost four years later– I think about the friendships we all shared. The gossip we shared, the laughter and tears we shared.
Now I miss it. And I want to get back to that.
