For as long as I can remember, I have loved scribbling down words on pages, documenting my everyday life as it happens.
In my preteen years, I kept a diary. I even had one with a lock and key that I kept safely hidden in my desk drawer right beside my pencil. I would write about who talked to me in class, the boys who I thought were cute, and the grades I got in school. I even tried to write songs and poetry occasionally. When I found out my mom read my diary, I stopped writing in it. I think I even threw it away. I’m sad I can’t read what I found so fanciful back then, but if I concentrate, I can still feel the heat of the too-bright desk light shining on my face and hear the wooden chair squeak as I turn to see if anyone is coming in my room.
Once my diary was read, I didn’t write again with any regularity until I surrendered my whole self to Christ in the spring of 2007. Since then I’ve filled pages and pages and pages of journals. I’ve written about the birth of my children, the struggles in my marriage, and the books that I’ve read. I’ve asked questions that I still have no answers to and found answers to questions I’ve long wondered. My journals are a treasure trove of my life, and sometimes I dream of someone finding them someday and turning them into books to be read by the millions. But more than that I know it’s something my kids will treasure long after I’m gone and they are ready to make sense of their childhood.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Intentionally Formed by Leigh Ann Dutton to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.