Friday, February 1, 2013

It's life

It's Random Journal Link-up Day. Apparently I didn't get the memo that today's the first day of February. This means two things: 1. Two posts from me today; 2. I have to go find a journal, open it and post what I find there. Hang on a minute, I'll be right back.

OK, I'm back. On the top of the pile (where my journals are at the moment, awaiting a shelf to be built to house them after we re-paint our bedroom), I picked up a notebook from 1985. Halfway through it, where I opened it, I came to an entry which is mind boggling in many ways. First, it's 18 months later; second, it's written in PENCIL, which is akin to...I don't know what but a giant no-no in my OCD journal-rules; and third, it's the last entry in this particular book, also a huge no-no.

But when I read it, it's all self-explanatory:
December 21, 1986
I barely know how to write. Sometimes that gnaws at me. It has lately. But I don't always know what to do to begin again. So I open these pages with trepidation. Perhaps I expect a symphony when I haven't even played chopsticks in a year. My hand scarcely knows how to hold a pen, cannot race across a page ahead of my consciousness,
I can write about a child's cry, about the agonizing frustrations of parenting as well as the awe-felt wonder. I still believe this life of mine is a GIFT--His specific gift for me--but it's also where I live and do the laundry. I doubt change can happen in the midst of squalor very easily. And I think there's squalor in my soul these days...but maybe that's the only place change has to start. It's just that my essence seems so much more superficial than I ever imagined.
I have a 17-month-old-bundle of life and a growing, kicking presence within to remind me of creation--His creation. In fact, they remind me of the Incarnation in the most dynamic way I've ever known. This is Christmas. I don't need cathedrals or candles or Christmas trees, because a baby's round-mouthed "Ooo" and shining starry eyes tell me exactly who the Father sent to earth. And at the same time, they remind me why I was born as well. It's for this moment. It doesn't have to be super-spiritual or super-deep. It's LIFE.

4 comments:

Recovering Church Lady said...

Loved this so very much! Sometimes when life is extra full, the moment to record its fullness cannot happen. Beautiful captured moment though.

Pamela M. Steiner said...

Ahhh, so glad you wrote this, even if it is in pencil...now you've written it on the airwaves for all the world to see...and it will live on and resonate for us as well. I loved this story. So down to earth real. For those of us who have experienced raising children and having one kicking within as well...we fully comprehend. Thank you for the memories this conjured up for me.

Dawn Paoletta said...

wow...I love this "I don't need cathedrals or candles or Christmas trees, because a baby's round-mouthed "Ooo" and shining starry eyes tell me exactly who the Father sent to earth. And at the same time, they remind me why I was born as well. It's for this moment.". You bless me constantly. WIth the way you share your wisdom here and with every visit to my place! Thank you, my friend!

Kel Rohlf said...

What makes me smile about this journal entry is your opening doubt about your ability to write...so much poetry in this journal entry...the "squalor in the soul" and the comparison of the life within you as evidence of the Creator...and the symphony vs. chopsticks expectations...you have a way with words!