April 17, 2009
words on a page
I remember my first diary. It came to me in an Easter basket. One of those little five year books, where each page allotted a few lines for five years worth of a day. I was thrilled to have this little book... a place for beautiful words and stories of my life, as long as I could wind my day up in a nutshell of one sentence. I may have written in it once or twice. Until I scribbled. Once I had made that mistake and had to scribble out, that was it for me. The beauty was gone... the marred page seemed to hold me back from any inspiration... and the book would be relegated to a back corner, and eventually the trash. I suppose among the clutter that makes me me, there has always been a touch of my mother's perfectionism.
It has been that way over the years. Beautiful journals call to me. The covers washed in lovely colors... the crisp white pages beckoning for beautiful handwriting. I would vow to share my thoughts and dreams with pen to paper... and then... I drift away. Scribble or boredom... both have brought my heart to a screeching halt. I do have one book that I've actually kept... perhaps the most I'd ever written in one journal. But it haunts me... that some words too precious to part with are written on one side, and the other side contains words I wish I hadn't penned.
I have surprised myself with Beyond Grace. That I have continued to write... that the words are actually in me... that anyone would want to come and read it at all. When I started out, it was just for fun... no idea at all of the journey I would be on... no idea at all that it would allow me to begin to be the person I always thought I was. And perhaps I owe it all to the delete and backspace buttons? They free me to write and re-think an idea. They free me to have scribbled out moments, and replace them with beauty. They allow forgiveness... something my heart genuinely needs on a regular basis. And I am thankful. I am so thankful to let these thoughts and words escape my mind... if simply to make room for new words to gather.
Sometimes I believe that I can do anything
Yet other times I think I've got nothing good to bring
But You look at my heart and You tell me
That I've got all You seek
And it’s easy to believe
Try to fit the pieces together
But perfection is my enemy
On my own I'm so clumsy
But on Your shoulders I can see
I'm free to be me