Today I'm thankful for a small collection of volumes sitting in a carton by my bed. These slim books vary from each other in size and colors. One has a painting of a woman strolling in a rose garden on the cover, another has a cheerful cow (I think it looks cheerful anyway) posing beside a sunflower plant. Still another has an elegant tan and gold cover with shimmery pastel flowers seemingly floating across the surface. Altogether, there are at least 9 if not 10 volumes. They contain my life. They are my journals from at least the age of 8. I have never been good at writing every day. Some entries are spread apart by months, some by a year or more. But I'm glad I have kept it up for the most part all these years.
Occasionally, I will pull one of them out and re-read its contents, laughing at the poor spelling and grammar, at the strange things I chose to record (why did I give detailed descriptions of so many breakfasts, most of which were nothing more than nutty nuggets and toast??), at the funny memories that they recall...
I also find myself wiping away tears sometimes as I read the pages...
It is 1996 and I am a girl of 12, dealing with the sudden sorrow of the loss of a brother I will only know as a fragile infant the length of my daddy's hand, his delicate skin covering ten perfect fingers and toes, his miniscule eyes the brightest blue I've ever seen. I read and weep, feeling the pain of that day like it was yesterday, of holding the tiny wooden box holding my brother, Joshua James, rocking him gently and crying. It was a long time ago. But once in a while, I read about it and cry, remembering. His little grave is in Apex, North Carolina in an old, beautiful churchyard beside Catawba Springs Christian Church, my childhood church home. His marker says his name and date of birth and death, then simply "Safe in the Arms of Jesus".
I didn't mean to write about that memory today to be honest. It just happened without much thought. But it is only one of thousands of sorrows and joys that have been woven through my days. Each sorrow and joy has shaped or shattered aspects of who I am becoming. In the pages of my life, two twin silver threads shimmer, sometimes stunning in their brilliance, often partly hidden by selfish thoughts or immature actions. But they are there: the silver strands of God's grace and His faithfulness. Over and over in my life. Not once or twice, but abudantly over and over.
That's why I am so thankful for my journals. Perfect grammar? Um. NO. Elegant penmanship? Ha. But a reminder that my imperfect self is beloved by a Perfect God? YES.
Occasionally, I will pull one of them out and re-read its contents, laughing at the poor spelling and grammar, at the strange things I chose to record (why did I give detailed descriptions of so many breakfasts, most of which were nothing more than nutty nuggets and toast??), at the funny memories that they recall...
I also find myself wiping away tears sometimes as I read the pages...
It is 1996 and I am a girl of 12, dealing with the sudden sorrow of the loss of a brother I will only know as a fragile infant the length of my daddy's hand, his delicate skin covering ten perfect fingers and toes, his miniscule eyes the brightest blue I've ever seen. I read and weep, feeling the pain of that day like it was yesterday, of holding the tiny wooden box holding my brother, Joshua James, rocking him gently and crying. It was a long time ago. But once in a while, I read about it and cry, remembering. His little grave is in Apex, North Carolina in an old, beautiful churchyard beside Catawba Springs Christian Church, my childhood church home. His marker says his name and date of birth and death, then simply "Safe in the Arms of Jesus".
I didn't mean to write about that memory today to be honest. It just happened without much thought. But it is only one of thousands of sorrows and joys that have been woven through my days. Each sorrow and joy has shaped or shattered aspects of who I am becoming. In the pages of my life, two twin silver threads shimmer, sometimes stunning in their brilliance, often partly hidden by selfish thoughts or immature actions. But they are there: the silver strands of God's grace and His faithfulness. Over and over in my life. Not once or twice, but abudantly over and over.
That's why I am so thankful for my journals. Perfect grammar? Um. NO. Elegant penmanship? Ha. But a reminder that my imperfect self is beloved by a Perfect God? YES.
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