Written In My Own Hand

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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. ~ William Wordsworth

The leather bound book feels smooth in my hands. I open it to the page, after my last entry. The white emptiness awaits my pen.


I've kept journals my entire life. For me, there is something therapeutic  about putting feelings, thoughts, experiences down on paper. I like to express myself with words on the page. I've had people say to me that they could never keep a journal....because they would be afraid that someone would read their journals, or family would read them after he/she is gone.  My thought is, read them! READ THEM. I hope my family reads all my boxes of  journals. I think they will see that I was a real person, with real issues, joys and sorrows. I had dreams and I tasted grief. I was sometimes goofy and yet a deep thinker.

*In eighth grade I wrote poetry and doodled hearts in the margins of my journal. I practiced different styles of handwriting to see which one was the most beautiful. I wrote of the seasons and time.

*In college I wrote letters to my boyfriend. I'm reminded of some of the deep issues we discussed on paper. (yes, the 80's were still pre-personal PC days)  I could hold my own in a debate.

*As a college graduate I wrote about my search for a job and my desire to teach. Once I landed my first job, I wrote about my days as a teacher, and my students that made it all worth while.

*I wrote as a newlywed, learning how to share my life with another.

*I began to write a journal to my son when I was only five months pregnant with him. I wanted him to know that he was loved from before he was even born.

*I wrote a journal of grief, for the whole year after my first husband died.

*I wrote when I was a single parent. The joys and the heartaches.

*I wrote when I started dating again. Dating in one's mid 30's is a lot different than dating in one's early 20's. Just sayin'.

*I wrote to my new husband. Of course, my witty banter won him over....along with my amazing email skills and my otherwise complete lack of knowledge of computers. (Giggle)

*I continue to write in my prayer journal. I pour out my heart to the One who knows and understands...my soul bleeding out on each page.

Each day I etch words into time. I write how I am feeling at that moment. The ups and downs of my life. The bubbled up laughter spilling out in joy. The anguish of dreams not met.

I love writing.  I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions.  ~James Michener

 

 

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Simply Love...

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"Le Prix d'Amour, C'est Seulement Amour."

The price of love, is simply...love.




Family. Unconditional love. Safe and secure.

Growing up, I never doubted love.

I was seventeen.

He held my hand. We shared a kiss.

The sweet tenderness of young love.

I was a young woman dressed in white, a young man at the end of the aisle.

We faced each other and declared our love.

Until death do us part.

The nurse handed the wrinkled bundle of baby boy to me.

I, as mother, looked at my newborn and love enveloped my heart.

Love tries again. Second chances are real. I step out into love.

Love for those I surround myself with.

Agape for my fellow man.

Love and thanksgiving to God.

....And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love. (I Corinthians 13 :13)

 

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The Road Not Taken

I've enjoyed poetry most of my life. I remember reading goofy poetry as a child, and as a teen collecting books of poetry from the more famous writers. I've kept my own poetry journals for as long as I can remember. I have always especially liked this poem by Robert Frost.  I just "get" his work. It makes sense to me.

" Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth "      (Can't you just picture yourself there? Standing in the woods....wondering which way you should go?)

This sums things up so well for me, in so many ways. For each of us, our choices, our decisions in life, lead us down a road. We have choices each day about what we are going to do. Decisions that seem so small and insignificant at the time can subtlety change our path, our course, the direction our lives take.

"...Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back."   (Yep. I get this. Don't we think we could do something different later, but we are lazy and we don't.)

Do you ever dream? Do you expand your borders? Do you wake up to the possibilities? You know it doesn't really matter whether you are 4, 14, or 84....or anywhere in between. As long as you have breath, you can choose the road that you are traveling down. It seems like it would be easy, but the truth is (as I can well attest) sometimes the journey is just hard. It is also painful. The pack on my back, is heavy. It weighs me down. I wish I would have packed lighter, for this trip. Other days the road is easy...I might even skip down the road...I realize just how good I have it.

I choose the path less traveled. Some days my trip is tiresome and I'm desperate for new scenery. I plod ahead. One foot in front of the other. I wonder if I'll ever see anything new or exciting. Then the day comes, I top the hill and I look out across the most beautiful sight my eyes could imagine. I hold this image in my heart, my view on that day makes the journey worthwhile. I remember that day, when I'm farther down the road. It keeps me going.

Life is interesting like that . Isn't it that way for all of us?  The ups and the downs. The successes, the failures. The commitments, the regrets. I realize that my journey must encompass all these things. My road has to have bumps and dangers in it, as well as smooth, flat areas. It keeps the trip down the road much more interesting, and as the traveler, makes me much more strong and capable and empathetic.

"...two roads diverged in a wood, and I-,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference."  (That really says it all, doesn't it?)

As much as I enjoy Robert Frost...there is another man I enjoy more.  His name is Paul.   Paul's life changed forever one day when he was on a road. The road to Damascus. That is the day Paul met Jesus---in person. After that day, on that road, Paul was never the same. How could he be? That day, he knew what it was to really live. He never looked back. His road was not easy. Threatened. Imprisoned. Beaten. And yet, while held as a prisoner in Rome, realizing his days were few, he wrote this to his friend, Timothy.......

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." 2 Timothy 4:7

AMEN.

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