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Trusting God: Remembering as a Spiritual Discipline

Forgetful Jones

I think I'm the most absent-minded, forgetful person I know.

Just ask our esteemed Editor, Denise. First, there was the time I simply forgot to wear a tie — an accoutrement required of men here at Focus on the Family. Nobody forgets to wear a tie here. I felt naked all day long.

Then there was the time I seriously thought somebody had stolen my laptop computer from my desk at work. Once I finally realized I'd left it at home, I drove the 15 minutes back to my apartment to retrieve it. When I returned to my cubicle Denise asked me if I was forgetting anything. In my rush to get back to work I'd forgotten to bring my computer in from the car.

This forgetful streak runs back a long way. My entire extended family on my mom's side was staying at a hotel for a family reunion or something of that sort when I was about seven. A bunch of us were swimming one afternoon, and I recall very distinctly running around crying, in complete crisis mode: I had lost my goggles! I ran to my dad and tearfully informed him of my predicament. He laughed and graciously told me my goggles were … still strapped to my forehead.

I told you I'm forgetful.

Regrettably, my inability to remember stuff bleeds into my spiritual life too. All too often I forget how faithful God has been to me in my past. This sort of memory lapse is accompanied by decidedly detrimental consequences — I don't just misplace my swimming paraphernalia momentarily or forget to complete my day's clothing ensemble. Instead, I end up worrying, unable to trust God with my future — something Jesus speaks directly against in His Sermon on the Mount.¹

When it comes to trusting God, I think we all suffer these spiritual memory lapses, even the ordinarily elephant-minded among us.² Perhaps we all could benefit from practicing the spiritual discipline of remembering.

Imminent Ulcers?

Hypothetical (but quite common) situation: You're about to graduate from college with zero job prospects, very little direction career-wise, and a decent amount of debt. Probably not a bad time to go to WebMD.com and read up on ulcer prevention. But is worrying your only option? Here's an alternative: remembering.

In a case like this or any other, remembering, in and of itself, doesn't do us much good. Sure, it can be fun to wax sentimental about the "good old days," (I think it's why the ladies do that scrapbooking thing) but nostalgia alone doesn't produce spiritual fruit. Instead, the kind of remembering I'm talking about should be accompanied by a deep awareness of God's past provision — in our lives and others'. It's then that memory serves a divine, faith-building purpose.

Daniel Taylor, author and professor of English at Bethel College and Seminary, has this to say about remembering:

[M]emory of the past should energize the present. One does not catalogue memories of God's work or personal experiences like artifacts in a museum. Rather, the past animates and is made new in the present. The museum mentality of static preservation, so common in the church, gives way to anticipation and expectation of a new work in a new time by the ever-creative spirit of God working, as always, through His people.³

Taylor hits the nail on the proverbial head. When we're actively remembering all the ways God has proved Himself faithful, we begin to anticipate the future. No, I'm not suggesting that we suddenly have a knack for clairvoyance. I mean that, even though we're not sure what's going to happen, we live our lives with a certain expectancy, a joyful hope in what God will do in our lives.

Old School Remembering

This whole remembering thing is not a new idea. The Old Testament is full of examples of God calling His people to recollect instances of His goodness.

Exhibit A: Chapter 4 of Joshua. In it, God holds back the waters of the Jordan River — during flood season, no less — and the Israelites cross a dry riverbed into the Promised Land. God then tells Joshua to find 12 men to pick stones out of middle of the riverbed and place them together. Why? To make future generations ask questions — to draw them into the story of His faithfulness.

Rewind a generation or two, back to when the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness. It's there that God dictates the Law to Moses. And He commands them, oddly enough, to celebrate.⁴ During the Feast of Tabernacles the people were to live in "booths" made of tree branches, as they did during their exodus from Egypt. Taking up residence in those makeshift domiciles served as a yearly reminder, not of their poor living conditions during their emigration, but that God had indeed provided for them as they escaped the land of their enslavement.

And then there's the book of Nehemiah. The Jews are in exile in Babylon and the wall of Jerusalem is literally in shambles. Nehemiah rallies the troops and they rebuild the wall in 52 days — no small feat. Then the Jews gather to recount their entire history, both the times of deliverance and blessing as well as those times they forsook God and the Law.⁵ The result: They sign a binding agreement to remember the Sabbath and keep God's laws.

Mnemonic devices and quaint associations help you recall important information for an exam. Likewise, that pile of rocks, the Festival of Booths and the exiled Jews recounting their history were all meant to act as reminders to Israel: God is present. God is acting. God delivers.

Practice Makes Perfect

So, how do we put feet to our own spiritual memory? Practically speaking, how do we infuse this discipline of remembering into our own lives?

Two ways I have found very helpful are simple journaling and regular, intentional conversations — both centered on recalling God's faithfulnesses.

By "journaling" I'm not referring to a recitation of the day's happenings or aimless, self-indulgent rambling into that leather-bound journal you bought at Barnes and Noble that just screams "I'm hip and introspective." Instead, I'm referring to a written-down conversation with God, in which you praise Him for those times He's acted in your life.

Personally, I find the very act of writing to be helpful — it forces my mile-a-minute mind to slow … down. Instead of having a whole slew of worrisome thoughts flying around in my mind, I concentrate on what's on the page — praises of my God. Thanking Him for the ways He's acted on my behalf brings that past into the present and greatly enhances my ability to trust God with my future.

And I mentioned conversation. Every other week or so I meet one-on-one with a faculty member here at the Focus on the Family Institute. I value very much his wisdom and helpful hints for life. But what I appreciate most about our lunch dates is my having had the opportunity to describe how very faithful God has been to me — not only in recent weeks, but in my more distant past. Those conversations help me paint a mental picture of my past — one not fraught with pain and confusion, but one in which God was walking beside me the whole time.⁶

Of course, these are only suggestions. The method of your remembering doesn't matter nearly so much as its content. However you choose to engage your spiritual memory, you'll begin to realize that God has been guiding you all along. And you'll grow in your faith that He's there now, and will be there in your future.

Therefore I Have Hope

As books of the Bible go, Lamentations is kind of a downer. Its very name suggests its tone: "See, O Lord, how distressed I am!" … "My eyes fail from weeping, I am in torment within" … "Should priest and prophet be killed in the sanctuary of the LORD?"⁷

C O F F E E  S H O P

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Do you find it difficult to trust God with your future?

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But right there, in the midst of his dirge, the author writes, "Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail" (Lamentations 3:21-22, NIV).

So: What will you do when graduation is staring you in the face and you're so tired of ramen noodles? Incessant hand-wringing won't help. But remembering God's never-failing compassions will.