looking through me

Tag: memories

ingrained

I tapped my car keys against my leg in time with the ice cream truck’s music. I’d never noticed that “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” and “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” have the exact same beat . . . or that my feet hit the ground on the beat of the ambient music.

It’s been eighteen years since I was in marching band: I still step with my left foot first; I still have an exaggerated heel-to-toe gait; I still fall into step with people walking near me.

Muscle memory? Maybe. Or maybe some experiences become so ingrained, I can’t not do them.

I can’t not eat my vegetables first.

I can’t not double-check the door is locked.

I can’t not root for one team over another in a game.

Some things go beyond habit and imprint on my wiring. It’s who I am. It’s what I do. But what happens when it’s not an inconsequential quirk?

I can’t not compare myself to others.

I can’t not set impossible self-standards.

I can’t not over-think situations and conversations.

Subconsciously walking in step to the ice cream truck’s jingle has no great impact, but labeling—and believing—myself a failure for missing unrealistic expectations has profound consequences. And still I do it.

I do it because it’s easier to accept my flaws as permanent than pay attention to them and do the hard work of refuting lies with truth. I do it because while I don’t enjoy my unattractive character traits, it’s a lot less work to call them hard-wired than it is to call them out.

Maybe today is the day to take another listen to the rhythms I move to and step off in a new direction . . . right foot first.

 

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counting to 10,000

I carried a slim, black notebook around for a year. It went everywhere: work, church, dinners out, small group, Israel, the car wash, hospitals, memorial services, holidays, the gas station.

It was nothing fancy. A nondescript, 5″ x 8.75″ ruled notebook with the lyrics of a song taped inside the front cover and a picture of my grandparents tucked inside the back cover. After a year in my purse it was a little worn, but it was at the ready.[1]

On July 29, 2013 I entered my first few numbers on a list. One year later there were 2,175 ways I’d seen God in 365 days. A good start on my personalized list of 10,000 reasons my heart can sing of God’s goodness.[2]

And it has changed—and is changing—my life. I slow down and notice the abundance of good in days I would otherwise have written off as inconsequential. As I sit by hospital beds or cuddle newborns, I see God’s hand in the hard goodbyes and the joyful welcomes. I see Him in the sunset and feel Him in the hugs of friends. I hear Him in the quiet. I taste Him in shared meals and salty ocean air.

Though I don’t reread much of what I’ve written, there is power in keeping a record. When I start to forget how I have been tangibly loved by God and His people, I can flip through the pages and be reminded. I have learned and grown—sometimes in leanings and sometimes in great leaps. He is not leaving me where I was. I have proof.

I tire from repetition. Unless I shake up daily spiritual disciplines, they slink right out of my routine. I’m not a good journal-er unless I’m traveling. But every day of the first year is in this notebook.[3] Even though I was occasionally a week behind staring at a calendar and thinking hard about which day I got the email or felt the breeze or realized there’s a connection between surrender and transformation.

Because it matters.

It matters that God is active and present— I spent days upon years looking past Him—and I can’t afford to keep missing Him. When I can see Him in the small moments, I understand nothing He has made is trivial. And He made it all.

So today I launch into a third year of gratitude as I dust for God’s fingerprints on each day, chronicling them as I go.

 


[1] The first notebook began to disintegrate, but its contents were transferred to a more durable second notebook.

[2] The song lyrics taped in the notebook (and the inspiration to start this list of 10,000) are Jonas Myrin and Matt Redman’s “10,000 Reasons (Bless the Lord)”

[3] The second year included an eight-month break in my consistency, though I am back on track now and through 7/28/2017 I have 2824 entries on my list.

 

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