Meditations of my Heart

“Christian meditation, very simply, is the ability to hear God’s voice and obey his word. It is that simple.” Richard Foster, Celebration of Discipline, page 17.

It really is that simple, I guess. Since beginning my practice of meditation last spring, I have made a few discoveries – about meditation and about myself.

My problem is that left to myself I do meditate, but on the wrong things. I somewhat obsessively ruminate on thoughts that are not helpful or healthy. I all too often fail to take captive every thought and make it obedient to Christ as exhorted to do in 2 Corinthians 10:5 Instead, I hear my own (or the enemy’s) voice swirling around in my head, drowning out the still small voice of the One who gives life and health to my soul.

Through the summer, I’ve been reminded of my desperate need to make time to meditate on God’s voice speaking through Scripture and on His voice speaking to my spirit. The problem is the how…how do I sit down somewhere and meditate on the things of God without all the other thoughts elbowing their way in?

In my discouragement and frustration I made a discovery. The truth is I’ve actually practiced the discipline of mediation for a long time. I write. I am a writer. I journal. God, in His infinite patience, reminded me that writing focuses my thoughts and prayers. Through journaling, I’ve mulled over Scripture, poured out my heart and then listened to Gods’ small still voice. My journals are full of mediations on paper. I’ve long known that journaling is indispensable to the practice my faith. I just didn’t consider it an actual spiritual discipline. I do now.

I guess the lesson is this: the discipline of meditation is not practiced in a pre-defined way. Some may sit and contemplate, others may walk, others may write music, and still others like me will write. In whatever manner we can successfully set aside our own thoughts for God’s we must practice it, keeping in mind our goal:

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing
in your sight, O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer. (Psalm 19:14, NIV)

Coming in September - the discipline of prayer

What I Take with Me

I apologize for taking an unplanned hiatus from sending postcards. I planned on writing about what I learned about meditation in July as my first step in practicing the spiritual discplines discribed by Richard Foster in the Celebration of Discpline. I was also planning to continue with my discussion on root sin. Between swim lessons, a family vacation, and starting a non-profit; the summer got away from me. Before I knew it, we were fast approaching 'back to school' for my kindergartner and 1st grader. Those topics I will get to I promise, but this one is for my dad.

The weekend before school started; my dad who suffered with Alzhiemer's and Parkinson's contracted pneumonia and my family knew where this would end. The end stages of these diseases deprive their victims of the ability to swallow. Their food is aspirated into their lungs and pneumonia results. My dad passed from this journey into the next on Monday, August 10th.

During the hours preceding his passing, my mind filled with memories. As a very little girl, when we were out in crowds, my dad's hand was too big for my little one, so I would hold onto his index finger and feel so safe. My dad taught me how to ride a bike, a small blue Schwinn. The same bike he would ground me from riding if I came home late for dinner. In 1971, my dad took our family to Disney World - the year it opened. No one was more excited than he. The only thing he loved more than the park itself, was how much I loved it. My dad and I were both graduates of Indiana University and once or twice each fall/winter, we'd make our way to Bloomington for Bear's pizza and a basketball game. We, along with my step-mom, step-sister and brother shared an unfortable trip to New Orleans to watch IU win the 1987 National Championship. With my brother, my dad shared a love of automobile racing and I know my brother now treasures those trips to mid-Ohio, Watkins Glen, Daytona and all of the time spent at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Of course, some memories are painful, but I will lay those to rest with him and only keep the treasured ones.

I will remember him for how much he loved my brother and me. For us, he wanted nothing more than our happiness and finding our place in life. Although a man of few words, I knew how happy he was for me on the day I married. He loved his grandchildren to the point that it changed him on the inside. In fact, he shares a birthday with my son, and I will always treasure that. I will remember how he loved to travel and from him I inherited the same love. He showed me the world...and because of that I became a missionary, of sorts.

At the end, I could tell Daddy goodbye with no regrets, no unfinished business - only love and gratitude. Except my mother, nobody on this earth loved me more than my father.

Goodbye Daddy, I miss you.