The infamous quiet time, my life long nemesis. I don’t write about my spiritual life that much. The reason why hurts – I don’t have much to write about. I go through periodic bouts of doubts where I really wonder if I’m a believer. Craig tells me that my struggle is a sign. I’m not sure I’ve believed him before.
I don’t remember much about the sermon this morning. This is normal for me. I do remember this phrase, “prone to wander” sung in a hymn. I’ve sung that hymn hundreds of times in my lifetime. I don’t think I’ve understood it before today. I am prone to wander. I’ve always expected that I’ve needed to clean up my act before I can really be a good mom, a good Sunday School teacher, a good church member, a good Bible study leader, a good budget keeper, a good ___________. I can’t and just maybe that’s the point.
I’m prone to wander. I always have been. I maybe always will be.
The difference today, though, is that I don’t want to give into my tendencies. I want to struggle with them, I want to fight them. I want to love God the way I thought I did in 7th grade when it was bold and daring to wear a powder blue t-shirt to school with “Jesus Really Does Love You” written across the front in white script. I want to love Him the way I thought I did when my friend Cynthia and I would call each other at 6:30 in the mornings to see if we were up and reading our Bibles yet. I want to love Him the way I think I do when I’m singing along with Keith Green.
I’m prone to wander. Somewhere along the way, my passion for Christ got tossed out along with my Bill Gothard teachings. I lumped legalism in with love and learning and left them on the curb for someone else to pick up, or worse, to just sit there unwanted.
I need a place to process some of this. I don’t preach and I barely even read the word on my own anymore. My life is messy. It’s complicated. It’s prone toward wandering. But I see the path now. It’s just up ahead and I think if I keep walking I just might make it there. I’m going to start here and see.
Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.
Sorrowing I shall be in spirit,
Till released from flesh and sin,
Yet from what I do inherit,
Here Thy praises I’ll begin;
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood;
How His kindness yet pursues me
Mortal tongue can never tell,
Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me
I cannot proclaim it well.
O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.
O that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face;
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace;
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
Take my ransomed soul away;
Send thine angels now to carry
Me to realms of endless day.
~Robert Robinson, 1758