For It Is Written...

I used to journal a lot. And by a lot I mean every day. I think my first journal started back in the sixth grade. I didn't want it to be a "diary," because a diary was so juvenile. So I called it journaling. "Dear Journal...." I would write at the top of the page in every entry. Like that was his name....journal.

I would mostly write about boys and friends. Who I liked at the moment and what girls were mean to me and so on. It was so juvenile, but those were my concerns at that age. Who was going to ask me to the prom and how much I despised my parents for not letting me stay out late to see a movie.

My last journal entry was almost two years ago. I stopped journaling, stopped writing my thoughts and feelings. I had anxiety. Really bad anxiety and I never wrote about good times. I always complained. This isn't going my way.. God help me with this and that and him or her. I tried to cover it up with pretty words and make it look like thanksgiving and gratitude but in all reality I was never thankful, I was worried.

I went back and read many of my entries this evening and I was caught feeling some of those same feelings. Worry, doubt, anxiety, confusion, discouragement. My journal was supposed to help me look back on my fond memories of who I was and my life at the time. When I look back at what I have written I want to cry. It makes me feel like I have made no progress, but I have. Leaps and bounds.

I have a grown up journal now. It's this blog. I am afraid that one day I will look back and be disappointed in what I have written. That I will have complained and not taken the time to relish in my moments of utter happiness. I want to remember my God moments, the times when Maury and I fall in love all over again. I don't want them to be faint wisps of air in my memory. I want my journal to look back upon for encouragement. Not of bingeing and purging.

So here's to the God moments and happiness so thick that it lays heavy upon my soul as I sleep.