I am in favor of journalling. As catharsis, as a thought-process, and as a recording of not only events, but the way that God moves through them and your feelings and perceptions in them.
I finished my most recent journal a few weeks ago, and it was an odd feeling. Accomplished, yes. I realized that almost all of it detailed my summer and its decisions. Each successive volume that I complete seems to cover a shorter and shorter span of time. That’s a good thing, I think, because it means I’m writing more and more about less trivial things. Looking back on Volume 1, which spanned several years and simply kept a record of events, I’m glad I’m growing.
I thought I’d post the last few pages of this one.
I’m sitting on my bed, per usual. My desk is cluttered, and I haven’t used it. I have three Czech Mucha posters above my desk, and it’s no secret that Hamlet is my favorite. My super classy bookcase. Posters: El Greco, Rene Magritte, Sherlock, Vertigo.
I’ve finally opened the window, and a cool breeze is drifting in. I can hear it softly moving the trees. It’s carrying fall, and the seasons will change and change again until I am grown and dead and gone, and then they will continue to change.
I’ve been trying to name the breeze in the leaves. It’s not quite an ocean. The best I can do is to call it breathing, living.
I’m reminded of the moment when Aslan approaches the statues in the White Witch’s castle, breathes softly on them, and brings them back to life. Yes. It’s carrying magic.
And God’s been breathing softly on my heart, and I know He’ll continue to do so as I turn and grumble and strive and harden.
It’s apt that this journal, filled with so much anguish and confusion and so many places, faces, worries, and miracles should end on such a note as this. It isn’t what I expected. I was going to write about my doubts in writing, my feelings of inferiority in fiction, and my fear.
No. Instead, I speak of peace, of changes, and of growth. I speak of the God who breathes life into my own heart as surely as He moves the trees with an unseen power.
I worry, and I strive.
But there is One who takes my worries and shoulders my strivings, bearing them to death and beyond. There is One who forgives and gives me life and stills my frantic soul.
I will write. I will write and write and look forward and backward. I will live and not just exist, I will follow my God wherever He leads and trust in Him.
I will not write for others, afraid of their judgement.
I will write for myself a small bit, and for my readers, if they exist, and I will write for my God.
May the God of peace and life-giving breezes melt your frozen soul. May the God who has the power to move mountains and dig rivers, who deserves all awe and glory yet loves us still, and who has the power to move our broken hearts in an immensely personal way, be with you always. In the name of our LORD and Savior Jesus Christ,
On to Volume 5.