Tonight I did something that I did not expect I would be brave enough to do. I opened up my journal.
I have always been a bit fickle about keeping a journal. I have a shelf full of half-empty diaries and notebooks starting from the time I was six that I simply stopped writing in for some reason or another.
But despite my inability to stick to one journal and finish it, writing in a book appeals to me. The sensation of pen stroking paper has always made me tingle with a happiness to which blogging cannot compare.
Anyway, this afternoon I bought some new pens, and I felt that I needed a good way to break them in, so I decided to bring out my latest journal and write a little—the old fashioned way.
The journal in question is one that I started in April of 2004. It is also a book that I have not touched since I broke up with Elijah earlier this year. I could give you a whole list of reasons for this—but I suppose it really breaks down to a combination of my native procrastination and the fact that I was terrified of what I would find inside.
But tonight I bit the bullet and looked through the entire journal. And a funny thing happened as I read through those entries that talked about my years with Elijah, through the good times and the bad—they didn’t hurt.
Instead of finding pain in the knowledge that things didn’t work out the way I hoped they would, I found lessons in every naive word I had committed to paper. I also found a certain peace about my relationship with Elijah. Not that I exactly was not at peace about it—I honestly have not been thinking about it much for quite a while—but reading through those journal entries resolved issues that I did not even know I had. Time truly does bring perspective—a fact that you cannot appreciate until that time has already passed.
A couple of entries leaped out at me as being particularly clear—and still helpful to me in my struggles today. So, although I am still debating the wisdom of posting such personal thoughts on the internet, I want to share two parts of entries with you because I think that some truth crept out of these words that might be beneficial to others, just like it was to me:
“Erin, this is more important than anything: keep your life in perspective. You are not made for this life; this is not the place in which to seek fulfillment. This life will fail you—its fleshly pleasure will fail you. You will fail yourself. Elijah may be your ally, your true friend—he may be a person that can boost you above the treacherous waters once in a while, but he is not your life preserver. You, he and your relationship are all subject to one person: God. God is the One to whom you must cling in stormy weather. He is the One on whom your life must be centered. Your relationship with Elijah is a wonderful gift—and hopefully you can help each other stay centered on the truly important Truths. But that is the key: you must stay centered on God and the Truth. The moment that Elijah becomes more important to you than God, you jeopardize your relationship and both of your salvations. So, Erin–please keep your life in perspective. Even if it changes what you thought you wanted, it will only make you stronger.”
From another entry, about three months later, some thoughts on death:
“Death is a hideous beast that creeps up on all of us. It is the elephant in the living room that everyone is so desperate to avoid noticing. … I take my youth and energy so much for granted—but the answer is not to become so grateful for them that I cling to them to save me. Each one of us must come to terms with mortality. It is not wrong to hate death; it is an ugly, soulless vacuum that taunts us. It is not wrong to hate it, because it is the embodiment of what is wrong with this world. It is not wrong to hate it—as long as we realize that it is not the end.
If I could have one truth tatooed in my brain so I could never forget it, it would be this: This world is not our home. IT IS NOT MY HOME. You see how clearly everything falls into place when illuminated by that truth? All of the sin, and grief, and pain and chaos, and despair, and heartache—all the silly priorities we set up for ourselves—all the times I’ve set myself before another person, when I should have helped them—all of it can be seen in heartbreaking perspective. God is in control. This is not our home.
Death is still difficult to accept. It is a hard pill to swallow for every human being on the face of the earth. But we must come to terms with it, not hide from it—because God is in control, and death is a necessary step in the journey to meet our creator.”
There you go. Two letters to myself, from myself, written about two years ago. I hope they give you some food for thought.
November 12th, 2006 at 10:06 am
I always hate reading my old “diary” entries.
It makes me hate my old self and hope I am not like that now.
November 12th, 2006 at 5:17 pm
Definitely food for thought. And it’s funny the timing that God seems to put on this food for thought. I am definitely dealing with the issues outlined in your first letter.
I think that I am missing some personal journalling to get in touch with myself and what I’m thinking and feeling on the more intimate level.
I think it’s time to write some letters to myself and to God.
Thanks for the inspiration to do so.
November 13th, 2006 at 8:22 am
Great post. I have not gone back and read anything that I wrote but I doubt it would be as wise what you have written.
Solomon says “A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth.” (Ecclesiastes 7:1) Hard for a lot of people to chew but I think he was basically saying that death means that you’ve completed what you were put here to do. I reference Solomon (and Ecclesiastes) a lot…