I journaled from the time I could write a sentence. When I was a little girl you could read an entry that sounded like this.
Today was a good day. I went to school and played with Kiersten at recess. We played pencil break on the bus on the way home. Mr. Fred let me drive and took us to the store to get cokes.
In my early teens an entry may have sounded like this.
Today was a crappy day. I had to ride the bus this morning. Tiny joined the basketball team so we don’t have any classes together this year. Jason didn’t call me last night. Maybe he will tonight. I got First chair flute and now I have to practice so I’ve gotta run.
From age 17-32 the entries were fewer but full an absolute roller coaster filled with twists, turns, thrills, horrors, excitement, the mundane, and a plethora of emotion. But I realize they were filled with evidence of God’s grace and goodness.
From 32-present (ok I’m 41 and a half—as my son so proudly stated today) there are no journal entries that describe my days. They turned into prayers, praises, and mostly written devotional time filled with revelations of God’s word. Which is great and there is much to learn from that, but the thought occurs to me that maybe my children will look to the people of their generation for more spiritual guidance. There will be books written for them with their unique space in time as consideration. Just as I now grab the latest Priscilla Shirer, John Maxwell, Lysa TerKeurst book. But what unique perspective could I contribute? I realized it did matter that they knew my struggles, wins, and thoughts.
Why did I stop journaling? Did I think no one would care to read about my days? Did I think it less important to share than God’s words? Well maybe part of that is true. But I realize that my legacy has to include a little of both. My children and their children will never hear all the stories I already have to tell at 40 years old. I will never have the opportunity to share them all. And who knows if I would remember the important details of God’s goodness showing up in my life daily as Jehovah Jireh, Jehovah Raphe, and Jehovah Shalom. So I begin this writing with the knowledge that the only thing that lasts throughout time is the written word. I will place my words in a space that maybe, just maybe will be preserved for my children to share with their children.
We are called to bear fruit. This particular fruit may be intentionally for my physical children but I hope that you, dear reader are also able to taste and see that the Lord is good.
A legacy is something bigger than ourselves, something that doesn’t evaporate when we cease to breathe. I sure hope they can see my smiles more than my sadness, hear my laughs louder than my cries and see that the overall story is that Jesus is my everything and desires to be their everything too.