Threads of Obedience — Revisiting the Year 2018

A quiet moment of creation mirrors the beauty of obedience woven through time and purpose.

African American woman weaving purple, cream, and gold threads on a loom in warm sunlight, symbolizing obedience and reflection.

In my last post, I reflected on anticipation and preparation from 2015. This time, my journey through the journals has carried me forward to 2018 — a year that brought not only memories but a very specific instruction. Reading it again after so many years, I was struck by how vivid it felt, almost as though the moment had returned to invite me once more.

In 2018, I received an instruction that was unusual in its detail. It was not vague or general; it was precise, almost startling in its clarity. At the time, I noted how odd it seemed, yet I felt compelled to respond. I invited others to join me, believing that shared participation would strengthen the journey. Together, we followed the steps, and in the midst of it, they offered suggestions that seemed sincere and God-supported.

Looking back now, I can see the joy of that season. It was satisfying for those who participated, and I believe it bore fruit in their lives. Yet as I reread the entry, I could not shake the sense that I had missed something essential.

The unease I felt was not about the instruction itself, but about how I responded. What was given as an individual call, I made corporate. At the time, it seemed wise — garnering support, building community, sharing the burden. But in hindsight, I realize that obedience sometimes requires solitude. There are assignments meant for us alone, not to be diluted by collective interpretation.

This reflection brought me face to face with a sobering truth: obedience is not about convenience or consensus. It is about alignment. When God speaks, He does not always call us to gather others; sometimes He calls us to walk alone, trusting that His presence is enough.

Yet even in recognizing what I left undone, I found assurance. The journal entry did not feel like a closed chapter. Instead, it carried a strange sense of continuity — as though the opportunity remained open. What I did not fully obey then, I could still obey now. The call had not expired.

This realization reminded me of Jonah, who resisted God’s instruction but was given another chance to fulfill it. God’s patience is remarkable. He does not discard us when we falter; He invites us again, offering grace to complete what was left undone.

Several lessons emerge from this moment:

From this reflection, several key themes emerge that shape not only my understanding of 2018 but also my present journey:

As I write, I sense that the instruction of 2018 is not finished. It waits, like a seed that has not yet been planted. The soil of my life today may be more ready than it was then. Perhaps the solitude I resisted is now the very posture I need.

This is the beauty of God’s dealings with us: He does not waste our past, nor does He abandon His word. What He spoke remains, waiting for our obedience.

Walking through my journals has reminded me that memory is not passive. It is active, shaping how I respond today. The instruction of 2018 was clear, and though I did not fully obey then, I believe I can still obey now.

For anyone reading, perhaps you too have an instruction that feels unfinished. Do not assume it is lost. God’s patience is greater than our hesitation. His call remains, waiting for your obedience.

Isaiah 55:11 assures us: “So is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.”

What He spoke in 2018 — or in any year — still carries power today. The question is not whether His word remains, but whether we will respond.

This reflection is part of my author journey at Plunkett Writes. You can also follow along on Instagram @plunkettwrites, where I share my writing journey.