I wasn’t looking for it. Not really. I had searched through rooms before, digging through the past, but this time was different. I was only reaching for a pair of socks, choosing that time to go deeper in the drawer.
A simple shift found a tiny book stacked beneath the socks. And there it was—something I had forgotten existed: my poetic journal from a small notebook Debbie gave me on Christmas 1983.
I held it like an old friend, uncertain of how much time had passed since we last met. The pages worn, the writing difficult to read, but the words inside? They were still alive. My words. My thoughts. My prayers. My own Psalms, written over forty years ago while feeling like present realities.
So much has changed.
While not much has changed.
I turned the pages slowly, remembering. The entries from early 1984 told stories I had almost forgotten. Would we ever be able to have children? Why do things happen the way they happen? Can’t people just love one another?
Each poem painted a picture of what I was experiencing, how I was responding, how I was reaching toward God in my own way. There were joys and uncertainties, longings and discoveries, moments of clarity and whispers of doubt.
I read the words as if they belonged to someone else—yet I knew them. I knew the young man who wrote them, the one navigating life, faith, and feelings too deep to explain in conversation.
Poetry was his language, his way of making sense of it all.
Poetry was my language, my way of making sense of it all.
Finding the journal was a surprise. Reading it was both informative and inspirational. The emotions I poured onto those pages decades ago still spoke. They reminded me that life is a cycle of endurance and hope, of loss and renewal, of questions and answers that arrive in their own time.
I endured that season. And now, all these years later, I see it with fresh eyes, old eyes, warn eyes. Without the hair I had when I wrote the original poems. Without the I’m-young-and-can-change-the-world-quickly attitude I had then. But hopefully with new view of the ancient concerns. Still hopeful. Still prayerful. Still in need. While choosing to rest amid the storms.
Maybe that’s the gift of reflection—not just looking back, but learning again. Seeing where I was. Seeing where I am. And remembering that the same God who walked with me then is walking with me still.
If you could read your thoughts from long ago, what would you find? What would you learn? How would you have prayed?
If you wrote your thoughts today, what would you write? What have you learned? How would you pray?
I haven’t yet placed the tiny book back in its drawer. Maybe I’m not finished. Reading and learning and remembering, maybe I’m not finished.
Powerful stuff here, I can’t even begin to imagine what it will be like to be older and reflect back on the things I do and believe now.
This is a great story and tells how time doesn’t stop and that we are only getting older
This reflection is deeply moving and beautifully captures the power of memory and personal growth
The way you describe your journal as a friend you haven’t seen in a while hit home. I think we all have parts of ourselves that we’ve outgrown, forgotten, or buried but yet they still speak to who we are. Your reflection reminded me of the importance of making space to revisit those old thoughts and prayers, not just to remember, but to re-learn.
It makes me want to sit down with a pen and start writing again, and not just about what I’m going through, but how I’m growing through it.
This blog is truly inspirational. I loved the line, “They reminded me that life is a cycle of endurance and hope, of loss and renewal, of questions and answers that arrive in their own time”—it serves as a reminder that life wont always be on a climax. Everything cant and wont be great all the time. We will have seasons of doubt, hurt, and unanswered questions, but reminding ourselves that seasons change and circumstances wont stay the same can bring comfort and clarity in the midst of uncertainty.
This blog post inspires me to write more things down. I want to write more things down. I want to be able to look back and see how God was faithful through it all. I love what you wrote here: “Maybe that’s the gift of reflection-not just looking back, but learning again.” This makes me ask myself the question, what is God trying to remind me of that I have already learned before? What do I need to remember from past occurrences?
I really enjoyed reading this blog, I think sometimes we all have more to say without knowing it.
Beautiful writing. There is such value in going back and reading old personal writings and journal entries. It is a great way to track growth, personally reflect, and most importantly, see what God has done in your life and praise him for the answered prayers.
Love this Pastor Chris! I actually took the time to sit down and read old readings of mine not too long ago and all I saw was answered prayers. It truly was amazing. It broke my heart though, that things that I see now as so normal and not a big deal, were things I was praying my heart out for a couple years ago. It truly was an eye opener. Nonetheless, this is a great post, and it reminded me of just how thankful, and powerful journaling can be.
This story is really touching and honest. It shows how looking back can help us see how much we’ve grown. The poems are a reminder that God was with you then and still is now. I think it’s a special way to learn and feel hope again.
This post made me reflect back on my life. I think it is really cool to see where the Lord showed up in moments that I could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. This encourages me to keep journaling through all seasons of life so I can look back and see what the Lord has done.