Somewhere back toward the beginning of this blogging journey, I typed up a post about the specific kind of journal (and pen) that I was loving most at the time.
Three years and six journals later, that opinion hasn’t changed.
Although a lot of other things have.
Particularly, the things filling those journals.
Thank God.
No, seriously. Thank you, God.
Because with the turning of each new page, and the completion of each well-worn journal,
little by little
hope has shown up in places I thought it never would
grief has come and gone, and gone and come, like the tide
truth has taken hold, deeper and deeper
new growth has sprouted
new questions
new crises
new sadnesses
new joys
and new struggles
have entered my world.
And these journals, literally, tell the story.
Yes, there are some ugly, scary, nutty, wild moments in them there pages, people. But there are also some crazy-beautiful, you-can’t-make-this-crap-up experiences.
And the bulk of what’s in there are words I’ve scribbled down while sitting with various amazing mentors, teachers, friends, and preachers. (And, of course, the one and only Miss Sarah.) You could say these journals have become my own personal, customized textbooks on life.
So here I sit, friends. Still-favorite pen and brand new journal in hand.
Ready for what’s next.
Join me?
xo
P.S. Want to know the actual, real reasons why I’m obsessed with these specific journals and pens? Look here.
