The Sword of the Spirit in Memory: (Easy Method to Memorize Scripture)

Copyright © 2012 by Anna Darby Asher

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Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture quotations in this publications are from The Message. Copyright (c) by Eugene H. Peterson 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.

All scripture is taken from the New International Version unless otherwise noted.

ISBN: 978-1-4497-4990-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-4989-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-4991-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012909372

WestBow Press rev. date: 9/18/2012

Contents

FOREWARD BY GREG EVANS…LOVER OF GOD, PASTOR, COUNSELOR, FRIEND

INTRODUCTION

TABLET 1:   A Reminder to Remember

TABLET 2:   Mamaw Mason

TABLET 3:   Statistically Impossible

TABLET 4:   Dark Threads

TABLET 5:   Miraculous Words

TABLET 6:   Moving Mountains

TABLET 7:   Shod

TABLET 8:   Rebuke?

TABLET 9:   Malachi Friends

TABLET 10:   Knowing

TABLET 11:   Remembering Rhetta

TABLET 12:   Jail Time

TABLET 13:   Really, A Worm?

TABLET 14:   Faith of a Child

TABLET 15:   No Sugar

TABLET 16:   Downcast

TABLET 17:   Walking Through

TABLET 18:   Sweepstakes

TABLET 19:   Grace

TABLET 20:   Honeysuckle Hospitality

TABLET 21:   Rachel’s Race

TABLET 22:   Peer-sing Words

TABLET 23:   Punch Bug!

TABLET 24:   Expectation

PROLOGUE

Foreward

Have you ever been to a ballgame and found yourself caught up in The Wave? You know, The Wave is when the fans in a certain section jump to their feet at the same time, reaching their hands upward, and that movement continues, elegantly, smoothly, in a complete circle until all the fans have become a part of the dance.

What is the purpose of this book? Anna asked the Lord. To remind them to remember, said God. I think that most of us think of remembering primarily as a mental event, an intellectual recalling of something or someone from the past. But what if remembering is far more than a mental event? What if remembering is like The Wave?

The Bible tells us that Christ was slain before the foundations of the world. What?! No, He was not! He was crucified in Palestine about 2,000 years ago. Right? Well, yes and no. What if the determination of God that His Son die began before the universe came into being? That determination was carried, so to speak, throughout many lands and many centuries, in the voices of prophets, and in the hearts of people.

God’s Son sacrificed rippled throughout the planet each time a priest raised the knife to slay an animal on the altar, quietly praying with Abraham that God would one day provide a lamb so that blood would no longer flow from the temple. The murder of the Christ has been a steady, relentless movement through ages and ages of grateful believers; saints in darkened sanctuaries, teary-eyed adorers who gazed upon crucifixes and icons in remembrance of the Precious One; strong passionate voices of evangelists and preachers who could not be silent before the Mystery of Grace…the steady rhythm of worship, perpetually pulsating through creation-the trees, the wind, and the angels. Silent ascent of candles burning, the smoke of incense, and the praises of God’s people…remember Him.

I have been to many ballgames, but I never really think about The Wave until it happens. I forget. Were it left to me to remember, The Wave would never again be experienced. Thanks be to God for Anna, I believe, is that single solitary person in the thick of the crowd who stands once, looks around, considers the possibility, then returns to her seat in fear, thinking to herself, I will look so stupid. She considers the appropriateness of her attire, and wonders how her makeup is holding up to the weather. She asks herself, If I do it, will anyone else join in? And then, as quickly as the fear came, she ignores it, and not too quietly says What the hell? She bolts from her seat and extends her hands, eyes alive and heart on fire. And you and I, right now, are left with a decision. Do we enter The Wave, or sit this one out?

Every time I become a part of The Wave, I smile, because a mundane ball game becomes an occasion for celebration and frivolity and play. But mostly I smile because my body tells me, as I bolt from the seat, that I have assumed the posture of adoration. I reach my arms toward the One who loves me and has always loved me and will forever love me. And Christ, who was slain before the foundations of the world, is now seated at the right hand of the Father, and He delights in my worship and giggles as we become a part of The Wave, until one day, not many days from now, others will remember, and propel the past into the present and soon, the future.

What if remembering is the primary instrument the Lord uses to propel the past forward, enveloping us, and continuing to its ultimate destination…Him? What if remembering is a tidal wave, that begins as a ripple somewhere far out in the ocean of the past? Its energy surges forward; energizing the water in its wake and re-shaping it…bend it upward and forward. What if, through remembering, we actually pass that which we remember from ourselves to others, just as those in our past have done so for us?

Greg Evans,

M DIV, MA, NCC, LPC

Introduction

I felt in my heart I was to write a book, yet I resisted. Assuming I was to write the life story of a victim—anxiety filled me and I cowered from publishing the ugliness. Yet if sharing convinced someone…isolated…that they are not alone or to discourage the choices I foolishly made, then how could I not? The flip-side of this choice is that I be careful not to judge or hurt those I have long ago forgiven. That doesn’t mean I have forgotten circumstances, it means knowing all I have walked through has shaped who I am. Placing focus on those who were a catalyst in any abuse I sustained would not be uplifting. I don’t need to look back at those memories, but be encouraged by revisiting sweet aspects of His rescue, His provision, and His healing; those characteristics of our Father that shine through the darkness as the light of hope. Those incidents lived by us, surrounding us, and to purposely be remembered by us.

The title was chosen while reading Proverbs chapter 3. It excited me as I heard the Holy Spirit reveal it to me. What a clever, pretty covering for my words…words yet to be written. Joyful anticipation soon clouded with that same question, was it to be a tell-all biography?

Time elapsed and an unwritten book slipped in and out of memory. Possibly a decade passed when I found a suitcase of saved notes and many beginnings of the first page. I wept bitterly at how much time had been lost. No… seriously…stop and think about it…I receive an assignment from our Creator and I forget to follow through? I wrapped myself in a cloak of self-loathing and condemnation. I’m experienced at dragging that outfit out of my spiritual closet. I begged His forgiveness…in sincere travail…I begged His forgiveness. As I did, I was reminded that nothing we do takes Him by surprise. Hmm…could running from the subject my book was to convey actually be about His timing? I needed confirmation. Was I still to write The Tablets of My Heart or learn that I had missed my chance?

Confirmation came a few days after my desperate prayer. A letter arrived informing me I was on a list of pastor’s wives to write one devotional a week; for one month. It was already scheduled. I hadn’t even been asked. Instead of a traditional devotional; I daringly pulled from the notes in that old suitcase. I prayed, cried, laughed, wrote and submitted one of my Tablets. I waited nervously for rejection, or maybe…acceptance?

I was stunned by the positive response and encouragement to write more Tablets. Person after person, email after email, suggested I compile them in a book. Wow-okay Lord, I get it! (Note how easy it is to take man’s suggestions over God’s.)

With revelation of my book revitalized, I was delighted…then insecure, then overwhelmed…an emotional yoyo. This project resurfaced at a time that circumstances…heart-vested disappointments…had me fragilely worn. Joy became a visitor, no longer a live-in. The visits too seldom…too short and I couldn’t figure out why. Slowly moving my emotional baggage, without the desire or plan, my residence was now my second home, The Pit. I hadn’t visited there for a while. Since being in the ministry, I thought I had overcome the tendency to run there…hide there. Depression…a word overused…non-descript for a painful, complicated existence.

Because I was a pastor’s wife, I isolated myself so no one would know I wasn’t handling life as a good Christian should. I resented the just-get-over-it advice, an attitude of those who misunderstand the sadness. Oh, I dressed for church; attended just what I was expected to, and wore an I’m fine mask.

Ashamed of my lifeless residence and convinced I should talk to no one, my fight ebbed, and wearily I lay down spiritually…then physically. Tired of being tired, combat seemed futile. This pit had me constricted by rejection and I dug it degradingly deep taking solace in sleeping. I slept through the loss of my usual creative yearnings, and loss of a career that I dearly loved. Mind and soul needed all the thinking…thinking…thinking to settle; the dull senseless pain to stop. I was drawn to snuggle under my covers as if addicted. I found peace in the unconsciousness. Being an insomniac my whole life, I was amazed that I could sleep twenty hours out of twenty-four. At first, I justified that I deserved a sabbatical, but years of sleeping slowly slipped by. That’s right; I said years…three…could be five, six?

Simple tasks escaped completion-yet when I sat down to write or rewrite a Tablet, (deadlines in place by the devotional assignment) I entered a place where I was surrounded by life, warmth and excitement. For hours I was consumed with writing, studying, and loving my Lord. Rising and walking away from my desk, the joy slowly ebbed.

It’s inconceivable I sought solace in my second home. I couldn’t escape the fear of inadequacy in compiling Tablets. I AGAIN lay my whining before Him? (I’m SO rescued that a fruit of the spirit, His Spirit, is patience. Even I cannot stand whiney people.) His show and tell came as I was packing to move. I came across a batch of Tablets printed months before to send to a friend. These copies disappeared in a to-do stack. Sitting down to take a break, I glanced…then read through them. An hour and a half later I was bawling. Reading about His faithfulness in my life injected strength I desperately needed…a shining light of hope making me realize I wasn’t alone as depression suggests. He is with me. I whispered in revelation, "Lord, these are for me…me! I need to read these when I face problems…they remind me of how good you were-no-are to me! Considering that, I asked, Father, did you have me write these for this purpose? Is Tablets really supposed to be published or are they for me to draw solace in remembering how profoundly good you are to me? People encouraged me to put them in a book…but they were probably just being nice. The bookstores are full of inspirational books so I don’t understand the purpose of this one? He responded with something that seemed random, To remind them to remember."

To remind them to remember…remind who to remember what? Hit the refresh button, Anna. I’m sorry Lord…I’m not getting the connection. Could He have my book mixed up with another’s? I felt a pout coming on…Not funny, Anna, He’s God; He’s not capable of getting mixed up. I rationalized I may be created in His image, but am very capable of getting mixed-up. Okay, if He said them that’s encouraging…that’s more than one reader…that’s good. If you have been chosen to read this…because you are deeply loved…because He hears the cries of your heart for strength to stand…He is revealing the importance of reminding ourselves to remember…reminding ourselves to remember every detail of His love and faithfulness to us.

In delightful obedience to Him…Holy God, Savior, Deliverer, Healer, Teacher, Best Friend, my Beloved…I share with you The Tablets of My Heart…remembrances of rescue from the impossible; times He reached out to me when I stubbornly reasoned a failure like me had better not impose on God; and illustrations He used to teach me when my anxiety-ridden spiritual skull was too thick to grasp what I asked Him to help me understand.

He is amazing…I pray you will be blessed reading about His patience, His humor, the magnitude of His love, and the eternal commitment of His grace.

Let love and faithfulness never leave you,