As a young lawyer, Abraham Lincoln, whose 200th birthday we celebrate next week, longed to make a mark in this world, to do something significant enough to cause his name to be remembered.

In “President Lincoln: The Duty of a Statesman,” William Lee Miller writes that in 1841, during a time of depression, Lincoln told a friend “that he had done nothing to make any human being remember that he had lived — and that to connect his name with the events transpiring in his day & generation and so impress himself upon them as to link his name with something that would redound to the interest of his fellow man was what he desired to live for.”

Interesting ambition.

Miller goes on to comment, “…twenty years later, at the time of the Emancipation Proclamation….’He reminded (the friend) of the conversation — and said with earnest emphasis — I believe that in this measure (meaning his proclamation) my fondest hopes will be realized.'” (p. 39)

If Lincoln’s life-goal was indeed to be remembered, then he would have been gratified, overwhelmed, and even staggered to learn he is the most-honored of all our chief executives, and the most written-about American ever.

“May He grant you your heart’s desire”(Psalm 20:4).

I’ve been memorizing that wonderful 20th Psalm, a keeper in every way. This morning on the drive to the office, as I was reciting the first four verses — that’s as far as I’ve gotten — that prayer-wish stopped me in my tracks. What exactly is “my heart’s desire?” If it’s the Lord’s will to grant it, and if that’s something I ought to be desiring and even expecting, then identifying it would seem to be a reasonable thing to do.

I’ve mentioned here the answer Pastor Frank Pollard gave when a seminary student asked how he wanted to be remembered: “I don’t want to be remembered; I’m only the messenger.”

We all recall the wonderful promise (with an interesting condition attached to it), “Delight thyself in the Lord and He will give thee the desires of thy heart.” (Psalm 37:4)

Evidently, the Lord likes the idea of matching up the faithful believer with the yearnings of his or her soul.

So, then, what is my heart’s desire?

To be pleasing to my Lord and to be an incredible blessing to those who know me best. That’s it.

(“Those who know me best” means my family first and foremost. No one on earth means as much to me as these precious ones. More and more as I age, I think of actions and directions in light of whether it will bless my children and grandchildren.)

A pastor friend in another state wrote me about a staffer who had been relieved of his responsibilities at the church. The day after his departure, the pastor asked the secretary, “What jobs of his do we need to pick up and cover?” She said, “Nothing. He wasn’t doing anything and so leaves no tasks to be assigned to others.”

I thought of the line that goes, “The next time you’re feeling indispensable, put your hand in a bucket of water and pull it out. The hole that is left is the same one you will leave behind.”

Except in the heart of my Lord, who has promised never to forget. “God is not unjust so as to forget your work and the love that you have shown toward His name in having ministered to the saints and in still ministering.” (Hebrews 6:10 is one of the great jewels of the New Testament.)

And in the hearts of my children and grandchildren.

A close relative told me this week of her husband’s health problems. She said, “He’s slowly dying. And he seems to be at peace with that.” She added, “I told him, ‘Don’t you want to stay around for the grandchildren and their little ones?'”

She laughed, “They’re the only ones who seem to listen to us these days.” He adores these children, she assured me.

I know the feeling. They are the joy of my heart, and I hope to some degree, I’m theirs.

So, what does it take to please the Lord, if that is my heart’s first desire? I think of the line from Hebrews 11, “Without faith, it is impossible to please God.” So, I will live by faith.

Twenty years ago, when we were leaving a pastorate under duress, Margaret and I found great comfort and promise in Psalm 66. (I’ve told the story before and in other places, so will not repeat it here. You’re welcome.) One day, after reading that psalm for the umpteenth time, I noticed that David spoke of the vows he was making to the Lord and how he was keeping them.

I sat there pondering, “What vows have I made the Lord as a result of His blessings?” And I came up with three.

From then on, I would live simply, would be generous in my giving, and would become an encourager of other ministers.

That three-fold vow has been “the desire of my heart” ever since. And in many respects, I have kept it (although you can see how subjective these are; after all, what does it mean to “live simply,” to be generous and an encourager?), and I still labor to do so.

No books will be written about me when I’m gone. And I’m just fine by that. That’s not anything I want or need in the least.

But my grandchildren will tell their little ones about Grandpa. Now, that is worth living for!