Last week, I bought myself a new journal from Target. It is pretty and pink, bound in a poppy-printed cover, and the fact that it's so pretty gives me great satisfaction (I have a seriousness weakness for journals and notebooks.) But even more exciting and wonderful to me is how thick it is with lined and blank pages. Just as if it is waiting for the words and thoughts to be poured out upon its pages. A space for my head and heart to speak, if only to myself and for remembrance's sake.
Since my pretty pink poppy journal entered my life one week ago, I have discovered how much I've missed really journaling. It's been so long since I've picked up a pen and written just to write, since I've truly taken the time to record thoughts and concerns, praises and prayers, what my life in a certain moment is like and what it brings to my mind. I needed this journal, and the space to write. I was shocked to realize today that I've filled nearly 30 pages already-- which would also explain why I keep going to bed far too late. The days and their busy-ness don't exactly lend themselves to time to write... so I stay awake long past when I should, my pen flying across the page, the words practically writing themselves, illumined by the light of my bedside lamp in the stillness of a house where all others are sleeping.
The other night, I wrote these words upon the page:
"I am so glad, so grateful, that it is my God, our heavenly Father, who is writing this story... This time is a chapter in it, and with Him as the Author, I need not worry or be afraid."
I've thought a lot about this truth in the past few days. I love to think about it, because it is a wonderful truth. A comforting thought.
In Jeremiah 29, the Lord declares "I know the plans I have for you."
In Hebrews 12, Jesus is called the "author and finisher of our faith."
Not only does He know what twists and turns each story, each life, will take... but He is the finisher. Our story is already written, and He is in it until the end. It continues day by day, each page covered with the fingerprints of grace and love, already written by Someone whose goodness towards us abounds, even when the plot might take a difficult turn or two.
It is already written. He knows the story, even when I don't, even if life and what comes next is breathtakingly unexpected. He's written it for me, for my husband, for my children, for the ones I love, for all of us.
And what a Writer He is. My own words are feeble and imperfect, my thoughts so unsure and jumbled... surely this blog post itself can attest to that.
But not God. His handwriting across our lives is more lovely than any scribe's, its content more pure and perfect than any sonnet could ever be.
I'm going to keep writing in my pink journal. And as I write, I will think, gladly, on the Author who is responsible for each new chapter in this life that we live.
The pages keep turning, the story keeps unfolding, and I know as certainly as spring will follow winter, that because He has written it, the end will be beautiful.
"with Him as the author, we need not worry or be afraid."
For this, my heart is thankful... beyond what words can write.