A few weeks ago I went to sit down in my little corner of the house to have my prayer time
and I found a little someone had been working on his artistic skills... on my prayer journal.
Memories flooded me of my own childhood
when I distinctly remember doing the same thing
in the spiritual books my mom had around the house.
When I was first going through a conversion years ago,
someone recommended that I start a prayer journal.
The idea seemed very... logical to me.
I thought it should seem like more of a radical practice
but it didn't.
I just thought: "That's a good idea!"
and I started writing my conversations with God.
It helped me keep focused. It helped me be honest.
Fast forward to 2012. My son draws on my millionth journal since my conversion.
I have the memory of my mom's journals
and I realize:
"Duh! That's why it wasn't such a weird idea to me.
I had seen my mom keep journals since I was little.
I had watched her pray all the time.
That's why it made sense to me."
So when I was tempted to be annoyed with my little guy for vandalizing my property
I imagined him having the same kind of memories I have.
I imagined him perhaps keeping a prayer journal when he grows up
because he saw my example.
I'm not a perfect mom... by far.
I yell. I get annoyed. I grow impatient. I don't play with him enough. I turn the tv on too often.
But I hope he forgets about all that
and just remembers that he has a mom who prays.
Not often enough... but prays nonetheless.
linking up with jami!