So. Let’s just get this out of the way. I don’t know if I’m a real “journaler.” Oh, you know who I’m talking about, those who document every single moment of their lives down to the syllable. ‘Today I ate 3 bites of an avocado-covered piece of toast, which reminded me of God’s love continuously covering me…’ blah blah blah. That is NOT me.
That may be shocking to hear, seeing as every single place I go, at least 342,033 people literally chase me down saying how much the song “Journal” and my advocacy for journaling has changed their life. Some are even slightly annoyed that I didn’t sing the song (LOL). But it’s even deeper than that. People are constantly giving me journals as gifts. I don’t mean a couple a year. I mean 4 or 5 a month! Someone walks up to me with a small journal -sized gift bag and tells me that God laid my name on their heart. And I KNOW what’s in the bag. I can smell it. I knew what was in there when I caught them walking my way. Yet, I still muster up my best surprised smile and say “thank you”! It’s not really about the journal anyways, it’s just really wonderful to be thought of to the point of action.
But here’s what most people don’t know, and if you don’t mind I’d just like to keep it between us for fear that my journal gift receiving may come to complete halt: I have HUNDREDS of unfinished journals in my possession. I’ve been starting journals since I was like 6. It usually starts with some profound thought or experience. Although at 6, I’m not sure how profound the discovery of strawberry cupcakes with strawberry icing is…
But just like many of you, I NEVER FINISH. I get distracted. I write for a few weeks straight and then something else trumps the time I spent with a pen in my hand. I’ve even coined a name for it: I’m a “consistently recovering journalist”. I have found myself disappointed at the number of tree lives that have been wasted because of my flighty writing commitment. I’m sure you’ve felt that way too. If it’s not paper, it’s time, or energy, or love- you just feel like you’ve wasted something that you can’t quite get back.
And just when I think God is sick of me using up gel pens and innocent paper, another person walks up to me and reminds me that I have another chance to pick up the pen again.
So here’s to the God that keeps giving me paper and pens and great stories of His love to write about.