The best part of writing consistently in a journal is being able to look back on who you were and what you wrote a year ago. I can’t stress enough how vital I believe it is to remember, to reflect and feel and strive. Remembering where I was a year ago was difficult, but today I couldn’t be more grateful.
Last year my faith and love for God began to grow dry. After reading a journal entry from Oct. 20th of 2016, I was brought to tears. Though this year has been filled with trial, I am able to look back and see how my God has been faithful to revive my dormant faith, to fill and satisfy my cold heart, and to bring my very own written words to pass.
The entry reads:
I want to learn, but not what is offered here.
I want to write, but not about what is asked of me.
I want something more, but I cannot find it in the room I sleep in.
The thing is I know I am in temporary discomfort, I know what I feel will fade
––and in due time, passion will warm my cold eyes.
I am not at peace when my father lacks it.
For now, the only comfort I find is in the warmth of a blank page.
Though it took a year for my barren passion to burn once again, it’s exciting to recount this year and to see in focus,
Hidden pieces of my Father’s heart.
Hope wedged in pain, placed by the lover of my soul.