They get all mixed up and twisted.
Which is why I enjoy writing. It gives me time to think. Time to space things out. I write a lot of short paragraphs and leave a lot of space to breathe.
Because this is how I think.
Somewhere between the thinking and the saying, the words get crammed together, put out of order, and the empty spaces filled with random prepositions, uhhs or ummms, and all manner of incomplete sentences. If you think this would be annoying for say, my husband, you're right; however, imagine being the person who can't get what is inside of her head out without repeating herself a few times. This is exhausting. (That was dramatic, it's not that bad. Only sometimes.)
Between the thinking and the writing, there's much less disconnect. For this reason, I write out my prayers.
Not because Jesus wouldn't be able to understand me if I spoke them. He's cool like that. It's more for my own sake. It's a lot faster to just write them out
I've filled up a lot of journals over the years. Every once in awhile I crack them open. My first one, started in seventh grade, is written almost entirely in gel pen.
|Anyone remember these babies?|
The contents are far from spectacular by any human measurement. It's the grit of my own personal faith and as such probably wouldn't appeal to anyone but me... and Jesus.
There's a lot of pages filled with angry, large, loopy cursive that's occasionally blotted out by tears.
There's a lot of pages written in small, fine, and perfect script, like how you would write a love letter to someone for the first time.
And many more pages about halfway in between, with handwriting that looks like how a good conversation feels, if you get my meaning.
Even the journals themselves speak a lot. Some are covered in beautiful fabric, some are plain notebooks, some leatherbound. There's quite a few that were well loved and some that looked like they were barely handled.
My life is etched on paper. My long, meandering walk with God, my relationship with my husband, my friends, my family, my son. The glorious moments and the ones full of shame. It's all there.
Maybe one day I'll hand them to my daughters and tell them to glean what they can, from both my silly moments & serious ones. (I guess my sons can read them too, but they may not appreciate the gel pen as much.)