For weeks now, I've been trying to remember where exactly I had tucked away the fresh book that would take over once I had filled up my current journal. It was a nice one, with a soft, velvet-like cover. And a good size, with nicely spaced lines, and fold back pages. Some of us are particular about these sorts of things (obviously).
Things were getting somewhat urgent. I am only pages away now, from needing the next journal. And sure, in the trips to town we've taken recently I could have, as Ken suggested, picked up a new book at the Dollar Store. But it would be somewhat disappointing (me being all particular about these things), and I was sure I could find the one I knew I'd set aside. It has to be here somewhere.
Problem is, right now, so much of my life is in boxes and bins and tucked away in various and sundry levels of storage. One level is a room in another building on our property here where all the 'last things' ended up. These are the bins and boxes that, in the throes of that last frenetic packing that happens no matter how well- planned your move has been up to that point, get dangerously and ridiculously labelled along the lines of 'important and random.'
Anticipating even then that I would need it soon enough, that's where I had put the journal-in-waiting. In one of those boxes. I was sure of it. But all I could remember of those stressed-blurred days was that I had made sure it was packed in and taken to someplace where I would be certain to find it.
Yeah, right.
Several forays into that room so far, I had found a few other 'random and important' items. But not my journal. Not yet. Today I was a little more determined and dug deeper. There were a few tightly wrapped baskets and one fairly large box I hadn't opened yet. And in that large box, aha! There it was!
I was so happy that I took it straight back to our cottage, took a picture, and immediately wanted to write about it.
This has been important to me because:
When your life has been a tad chaotic and all your 'stuff' (the 'stuff' that isn't supposed to matter so much but does, actually) is to a large degree inaccessible, it's a small but important joy when you can find that 'important and random' thing. This is totally subjective, but it felt very much like God, who sees the sparrow fall, was tenderly guiding me toward small but important joys. It's reassuring.
Also.
Journaling has become a significant baseline practice in my own spiritual formation over the years. I find it deeply connecting and stabilizing. As a means of holding myself accountable, and a way of being encouraged by the kind of growth only discernable over a longer period of time, I read through my journal every year, over the summer. I note the repeated issues, the answers to prayer, the rough edges that need attention, and the many intimate interactions God has initiated with me over the past twelve months. It's a truly enlightening experience. A way of 'finding' myself, I guess, so I don't get lost along the way. This helps inform me in mapping out the coming season. And also, mostly, it humbles me. Keeps things right-sized.
So yay and hooray for finding lost things that aren't lost anymore.
Yay and hooray for the practice of journaling itself, and how it helps me find myself in the wild wonder that is living out each day.
Yay and hooray for all the ways we seek connection with ourselves and with God, journaling being only one of them.
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