The death of a journal.

Journals are more than just bound paper. They sort of have a personality of their own. When I come within 20 pages of the end of the one I am in currently, I go on a mission. Because even though 20 pages could last 20 days …. cough cough 40 days cough ….. it’s not something I’m willing to risk not having. And I’m very picky. It has to be the right size- not big like a notebook, but bigger than an address book. Spiral bound, none of this “real binding” business. Lines or not? That is the question. And it depends on my mood. Don’t be shocked about that.

So this spring, when I was only about 1/2 way through my post-Ghana journal (seen here), I went to Barnes & Noble. Just cause I do. I love that place in a deep way. That’s a whole nuther blog. (And if you don’t know the word “nuther”, we probably don’t live in the same region of the United States.)

Anyways, the journals were on sale. THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MY FIRST SIGN. I saw one that I loved for Ashley Ward (who comes home tomorrow from India!!) and then I saw one that I loved for Marie Claire. You can see it here. I’ve never been a big fan of red (unless paired with black), and that thought did cross my mind, but I dismissed it. I loved that one page was lined and the next was not. So I grabbed one for Marie ….. and one for myself. Sue me.

Well, I finally got to start writing in it after returning from Scotland. I was eager, yet at the back of my mind was this nagging feeling that this journal was a bad one. Two entries in I knew it was a dud. I didn’t like the handwriting I was using, I didn’t particularly like the “season” I was in, so that led me to write things that made me mad. I wasn’t drawn to writing in it. I couldn’t see myself referring back to it down the road for encouragement or wisdom or good scripture. I felt guilty every time I looked over at it, realizing I should probably be writing more. A guilty journal is a bad journal, people. And you can take that to the bank.

Alas, last night, after 60 days of the journal and only four entries, I let it go. I started to write in it, hoping to resurrect what my heart knew was already dead. Three paragraphs in, I knew. It’s a goner.

I don’t totally blame you, B&N journal. I never did. To be honest, it wasn’t you. It was me.

But, losing a journal mid-entry like that, when I’m feeling motivated to return to it, can be unfortunate. What am I to write in? And then I saw it. Sitting across the room, waiting patiently. A journal I received as a gift from the bride whose wedding I was in back in July. I knew it was right. It was just right.

For a transition.
For a growth spurt.
For a change.
For a turning of the tide.
For a reconnect.
For a blessing.
For a chance.
For a reminder……

Psalm 34:1-10

I will extol the LORD at all times; His praise will always be on my lips.

My soul will boast in the LORD; let the afflicted hear and rejoice.

Glorify the LORD with me; let us exalt his name together.

I sought the LORD, and He answered me; He delivered me from all my fears.

Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.

This poor man called, and the LORD heard him; He saved him out of all his troubles.

The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear Him, and He delivers them.

Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him.

Fear the LORD, you his saints, for those who fear Him lack nothing.

The lions may grow weak and hungry, but those who seek the LORD lack no good thing.

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