Thursday, November 3, 2011

A peek Into My Journal.


Recently I was sorting through some books on my nightstand and there tucked under a copy of Jane Eyre, a Bible, a daily devo and a thoroughly read Don Miller book (I sound so spiritual don’t I?) I found my brown weathered journal. When I say weathered, I actually mean that pieces of the leather are missing, showcasing a soft material peeping through, accidently created from placing the journal on a somewhat tacky service and applying pressure for an extended amount of time. Now this wasn’t done on purpose, but it does make it look well-loved and vintage. Kind of how I hope to look when I’m a crazy old lady who wears velour jumpsuits willingly and mall walks with cans of soup, which will later be served up for dinner.
I haven’t written in the journal for quite a while. I wrote a lot after Kendra passed away and throughout her sickness. In fact, I think it was my only outlet during her sickness, and you can tell. I’m pretty sure the ink used to script every word was first mixed with tears because every page read anguish and pain and heartbreak. It’s numbing to look back and see how much you were hurting and didn’t even realize it. Makes you wonder what you’ll find out about yourself in the future about the present, what life are we living that we don’t even realize. Here is one thing I wrote that stands out, it was the last entry I wrote:

“It has been said that love is a battlefield, love is a gift, love is giving without expectation.

Love is an emotion, love is a verb.

Love is life.

Love is living, breathing, yearning, shelter, comfort, pain.

Love, is life.

Love is losing and gaining, setting free and holding tight. What isn’t love?
Because love is life.

Created in the image of pure love; to be loved and to love. If I know not any other words to personify in life, I will be completely satisfied with pure love as my only goal.

To live is not to love, but to love is to finally live.”



There was one emotion I didn’t disclose earlier that was threaded and woven throughout my words, tightly clinging to every thought like a brand new pair of spanx. It was hope. It was unadulterated hope that our Christ and King would not falter, would not turn His back on his people, hope in the future and hope in the healing and redeeming power of Christ. A hope that is daily healing the open wounds of living in a broken world.

Reading my words written just a few years ago has brought up the question of “Am I embodying love?” I now wonder if I were gone would people remember me as the girl who loved and cared for others or the girl who had a quick witted tongue and was a little obsessed with mustard yellow? I suppose I can only hope for both. But in all reality, I want to daily find a new way to express my love for others and my engulfing love for my Lord and Savior. What holds us back from that vulnerability? Why is taking that extra moment to genuinely express love to someone much like moving the Eiffel Tower with well-manicured, bare hands?

I could delve into the egocentric persona that encases society. The selfish overpowering the selfless. But why? Why, when I can just love. Why complain about the problem, we already know it, so now let’s make love a verb. An action.

  So hear me loud and clear. I love you. I will always love you. And I don’t mean the kind of love with floating pink hearts or i’s dotted with itty bitty spectacles of an embarrassing abundance of emotion. I want the life that is love, raw, empowered, and real.