Written Words

Written words are a source of blessing, power and encouragement. The prophets wrote what God revealed to them. These prophecies remained and were even quoted by Jesus. There was power in the written word for Jesus as He told satan, “It is written.“ The apostles wrote letters that still remain today. In order for us to be good stewards of revelation, we must discipline ourselves to record and write. Dreams and visions need to be recorded. Revelations that come to us need to be written down. Special times of God’s grace, even the smallest of details that can be easily forgotten, need to be recorded so that we may read the words later and be inspired, provoked, or simply reminded of what God has said to us and done for us.

It is still a blessing and sometimes even humorous for me to read journal entries of special times in my life. One such entry was in the spring of 1993. I was in Linz, Austria with a mission team visiting the Romanian church there. Many of the Romanian people had immigrated into Austria during the communist era. On a beautiful evening we got ready and drove into town for the evening service. Arriving at the service, I suggested to one of the guys that we sit near the window. It was hot and a cool breeze was coming in the window. I noticed that all the women and girls were sitting on that side of the room. They smiled at us and occasionally would laugh or whisper. Being Americans, we knew we were often under the close scrutiny of the people we were visiting, however, after a while we finally figured it out. We were sitting in the women’s section. During prayer we quietly moved over to the men’s section.

They eventually introduced us and asked each of us to give a testimony of our faith. Four of us sang a couple of songs while Gabriel played for us. Not the angel Gabriel. Gabriel was a Romanian youth that we had befriended. Another young man named Radul and some of his soccer friends invited us to play the next day. I hadn’t ever played soccer but was excited about the invitation. These guys were members of a national team. Somehow it wasn’t entering my mind that they were pros. So, we were up early the next morning and ready to go.

Gabriel and Radul picked us up to take us to the park. It was a holiday. Several others were already there in a beautiful open field with trees around it. We gathered around and sang some songs with the accompaniment of a guitar and trumpet. We sang, “How Great Thou Art,” “Soon and Very Soon” and some other songs. This was probably my first experience with park ministry. I loved it. Then the games began.

Radul had played for two years on the Austrian soccer team. We chose teams and I ended up on his team. There were about eight on each team. Although I was only in my mid-thirties, I was the oldest one playing and with very little knowledge of the game. The weather was really hot. At one point when I had the ball, I kicked three times and I missed each time. Once I turned a flip. I did actually hit the ball a few times; I blocked a few times, but we ended up getting beat three to one. However, I wrote in my journal, “This is a historical event for me, and I will always remember my first, and maybe last, soccer game.“

After that game, we went to the water trough to get some water. Then, we sang some more. We added an accordion to the mix this time. They were a repressed people living in a distressed land but they were so happy and joyful. They had not hung their harps upon the willows. Their joy was contagious. Winning the game wasn’t as important as just receiving the joy of life. Life was just flowing through everyone as we celebrated holiday. I never even asked what holiday it was…. looking back, maybe it was only what American’s call a vacation day. It was a momentous day.

Reflecting and reading this almost twenty years later makes me appreciate the passion and discipline of writing. Otherwise I would have forgotten lots of small details. Sure, I will always remember the game, but not the score. I will always remember Austria, but may forget what songs we sang in the park on holiday. May we let the power of our written words encourage us and inspire us to live life abundantly. May our recorded dreams and visions increase continually. It is also my hope that our dreams be more plenteous than our memories. Recording our memories can spark new dreams. Recording our memories can help us to endure until our dreams are realized.

Caleb, the one who spied out the Promised Land but had to wait many years to actually step into it again, even at the ripe old age of eighty-five, said, “Give me my mountain.” (Joshua 14) He had not grown weary waiting for the actualization of his dream. The memory of the wonders he had seen forty-five years earlier was still fresh to him, making him as strong as he had been the day he saw the Promise. May our dreams be vibrant and our will and even our bodies be ready to take our mountains – even those we dreamed about half a life-time ago.