The charm of a hand-written journal has only increased with the introduction of online blogs and "live journal".
And then I feel as though I've reached the point when I have nothing left to write because it's already all been typed... I would much rather my grand children and great grandchildren stumble across an old chest full of leather-bound journals in the attic than stumble across some cached blogs on a Google search. That's not real; that's not tangible.
A hand-written journal, I touched its cover, I turned its pages. That is real. That was, and is, and will be. That's so damn beautiful.
Business has been positively swimming around my brain the past few weeks, but very little of it was making any sense. None of it was going anywhere, most certainly. And then there was yesterday with its purposeful and productive work and then there was today, with it channeled energy and renewed enthusiasm for the task ahead. And there will be tomorrow, with its intended early rise, and exercise, and morning list making. And if I'm feeling really introspective and plain good, then perhaps a little romp through the Psalms and Proverbs.
My Bible reading seems to be reserved for those times when I'm feeling slightly redeemed, for when I'm feeling pious and good, for when I feel like I can approach my Savior, guiltless.
These days those times are few and far between for certain.
My life is spinning and moving, halting and starting again.
The life is constantly being breathed into me, over and over again.
And I know my Redeemer lives. And I know my life's work is not yet complete.
I'm sad to leave the present... sometimes I'm excited to move onto the next... when I'm not too busy being scared out of my mind with clueless wonder: what is next?
God only knows.
He cares more for a fraction of my life than for the lives of the thousands of tsunami victims in Asia.
Why can't I allow myself to love him?
All these changes in my life.
All these changes.
All these changes.
All these changes...
One year, and all these changes. I'm not the same person I was at all.
But oh yes, here I am.
I am here, only a tiny bit battered and bruised.
Only slightly marked.
Yes, I am so different, but here I am, right where I left me.
Right where I left God. And how amazing is that?
And I'm right here where I left God.
Right here where I left God.