I've been doing some surface-scratching reading on Reformed theology lately, and one point really stuck out to me:

God owes us nothing. 

I've been questioning my own faith lately--not on a 'does God exist?' level, but questioning how deep my faith really runs.  I'm going to seminary in the fall, and I'm realizing that so far in my life, my faith has always been about me.

I spend a lot  more time asking God for help with my own problems than praising Him, even thanking Him for things He's already done in my life.  I've fallen into the 'vending machine God' trap, and I don't like it.  I don't like it one bit.  But it's a really difficult habit to break.



My mom's favorite movie of all time (and I must admit, it ranks among my favorites) is the Blues Brothers.  When I was a kid, we would rent it every chance we got and watch it over and over and over again.  But in all that time, the two lines that have stuck with me the most are these:

"We're going to Joliet on a mission from God."  and...

"The Lord works in mysterious ways..."

The first one stuck with me because every year when she would drive me to camp, my mom would say that over and over and over again. 

But the second line resonates through every part of my life.  Who but God knows why in the world I spent last summer in Connecticut?  Who else knows why I'm here at Knox College of all places?  Who knows why we suffer the way we do?

That last post, I had submitted long before it went up.  But it has perfect timing--because that's what I want to ask God right now.  I know that there's a reason for everything, and a time for everything under the sun.  But why does that time have to be RIGHT NOW?

I'm so glad I'm not God, and I'm really, really glad that I don't control my life.  I can't imagine where I would be.  I often like to think that I'm forging my own path, but in the end God always has his way.  Imagine that?

God...I'm slightly intoxicated, very stressed, and trying hard to hold in my emotions until I can deal with them.  But it's hard--so hard.  God, I don't know where to go or who to turn to.  Everyone has their own problems in their own life.  I know I can't help anyone else right now (at least not intentionally), so how can I expect someone else to help me?

As a teen who is soon to become a twenty-something, I hear my parents and grandparents talking a lot about where they were when some spectacular (or horrid) event occurred.  My grandparents remember where they were when they found out about the attacks on Pearl Harbor, and my parents have told me countless times where they were when President Kennedy was assassinated.  I can remember where I was on the morning of September 11, 2001 - sitting in a seventh grade literature class.  I remember sitting in my dorm's common room, watching election results coming in on November 4th, 2008.

I'm a history dork--I readily admit that.  One of the things that fascinates me the most is first-hand accounts of historical events.  You can get the same story from any history text--but speaking to someone who experienced the events or the after-effects will give you a much richer tale.  This is also one of the reasons that I keep a (sporadic) journal.  If something big happens in my life, I write about it because I want to be able to remember it down the road. 

Memories are a big deal to me.

So when I think about the days and nights that have contributed to my journey of faith, I revel in those memories.  I remember not only the deep conversations and realizations, but the knowledge that God had wrapped his arms around me in those moments and that He would carry me through.

I can remember the night I first gave up my life to Jesus.  I was in elementary school, and it kind of all happened by accident.  I was at a church camp (which became my second home), and it was a Wednesday--traditionally termed 'committment night' at camp.  The chaplain gave a very impassioned message, presented us with the Gospel and divided us up into groups.  Those of us that wanted to bring Jesus into our lives were asked to follow some of the counselors to a different portion of the camp, where we would have one-on-one time with them and begin our relationship.  I was 10--I really had no idea what was going on at the time, but my best friend went with that group, and so I followed.  After a night of prayer, tears, and some intense conversation (for a 10-year-old at least), I had accepted Jesus.

Since then, countless retreats, weeks at that same camp, and missions trips have added to my faith in ways I never expected.  Friends used to tell me quite often that God had big things planned for me--I never could have known how right they would be.

What are some of your favorite "God moment" memories?  Do you remember the day that you realized that you wanted God in your life forever?