As I thumb through my notebook of ideas, starting points in what I want to share in this space, I linger over the words: symbols, connection, intention, family, faith...
How do we give these words meaning and prominence in our day-to-day lives? When I am old and gray, my children grown, what will lead me back to these days of chaos, joy and wonder? So often, my days feel rushed and misplaced; a race to finish one just to tumble into the next with high hopes and bags of exhaustion decorating my eyes-such little space for grace and forgiveness when my "list" is left undone.
I am a champion list maker. I am a planner, a dreamer. Filled with good intentions and lacking the enormous demand for follow-through my life commands. It is easy to float through this life. To succumb to the urge to 'just get through another day'. And yet, floating leaves me empty and worn. It robs me of my memories, my joy. Steals the everyday boosts of confidence and faith I have in myself for a job well done.
When I allow myself moments to seek gratitude, to reflect on the thousand little gifts of joy this life with nine quietly-and sometimes quite loudly-gives me, I find peace. I find my faith deepens-my faith in myself, in my family, in my abilities, in my dreams.
Writing is my outlet. I sometimes feel if I don't write it down, it will be gone. So sadly, I have found with regret, this is true. Pictures, disjointed journal entries, facebook updates all mark and record little bits of our lives. But they are all just that: disjointed. Recorded moments in scattered places with no story. Just independent snapshots of our lives.
Keeping a family journal has given me a place to record our days. To capture those precious, poetic words my children utter and the darndest things they say. A place to tape in a ticket stub, to tuck away a love note and include a photo. A place to record a favorite recipe, a favorite song or prayer, a list of dreams. A 'safe place' to share words of love and admiration that sometimes come easier on paper than embarrassingly spoken aloud. A handprint on their birthdays. A pressed leaf or flower from our first garden. A shared calendar of dates and events to remember. A family journal is the perfect home for my little ones' crooked first attempts at writing their names, and the hand-written credos my young teenagers so bravely share with our congregation as they Come of Age.
It is a place to honor and celebrate our family. To see how we've grown inside and out. To document the sacred scriptures of our own truths as we discover them. A symbol of our faith-as wide and varied, and closely connected as ours may be. As we begin to journal, my hope is to have these pieces of our lives bound together to tell our tale. To share in times of joy and celebration. To savor when my memories fade. To treasure in moments of regret and guilt, or to lift me from feelings of hopelessness when the day is long and my resources seem few. I intend for this journal to become my much-needed reminder that these days are short and all-too-quickly fading. A living home we can always come back to.
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