Several years ago, I began a prayer.

It was taught to me by a prayer book that I was reading at the time. Honestly, I have read so many books on prayer, I cannot even remember which book it was.

I love to learn through these older and wiser mentors that have walked the well-worn path of faith.

Elisabeth Elliot, Catherine Marshall, and of course, our biblical examples—Paul, Peter, John, King David, Joseph, Moses…

The prayers that I wrote, were labeled "Immeasurably More” prayers.

It was a lazy Saturday morning.

Both kids were home under the roof for the first time in a while, so this momma was happy.

My daughter, Presley, had plans to spend the day at the lake with her boyfriends family, and my son, Joseph, was headed to Atlanta to stay the night with some of his old high school friends.

Usually, I don’t write in my prayer journal on Saturdays because we often have a full plate of things to do, errands to run, or just hanging out together as a family.

This particular Saturday, I had time to sit and write. My daughter had left early to leave for the lake, and my son was getting ready to leave.

It was a rainy afternoon. Sitting under a warm blanket, bible, notebooks, and prayer journals falling off my lap, I cupped my hot tea in my hands.

From time to time, I like to revisit old prayer journals. I picked up one from a dusty shelf that was from the Summer of 2013.

As I read page after page, I sat in amazement of how simple those old journals were.

My heart was all over the pages, but the times seem to be different then.