Hookie — Part 1 (The Perfect Journal)
Lisa over at Lisa Writes encouraged me to journal. I used to journal every day.
Now I blog.
But I imagine that God misses my scrawl. Journaling = praying (for me). Back in the Old Testament they built altars. Today, I build a cup of chai, sit on my brown couch, wish my dog could snuggle next to me, and take my pen to a piece of paper . . . well a perfect journal.
If you think I have random disjointed thoughts when I write, imagine what my brain is like when it isn’t under the discipline of a pen and paper to pray!
Let me set the scene . . . right now.
This is my journal. I am pretty particular about my journals. I can and do have 10 perfectly fine journals, but they don’t meet my qualifications.
First and formeost said journal must be inviting. It needs to look like it contains history. The outside, preferably leather, must (hold on, I am stroking my journal for the right word) be like French Silk Pie to the fingertips but smell like far away places. When my cracked hands (from multiple hand washings due to the changing of a boy in diapers) open the written word of my brain, the pages are almost required to show that others have trod where I am about to (meaning that I want the pages to be soft and look handcrafted). As I use the PERFECT pen (worthy of a blog post in itself), I want the pressure of my reflections to leave an engraving on the opposite side of the page, essentially mingling my thoughts forming who I am at that present moment. My legacy of life experiences need to fit into a small journal that can easily bend like I am learning to do with my lethargic body in P90X. And lastly, I don’t want a lock and key. I want a rope. Not only does the rope mark the current page I am writing, but as I finish each entry and the book is shut, I want to feel like I am writing about unchartered travles, almost like I am a pirate . . . without a patch or a hook.
To make the journal perfect . . . it must come from my husband.
And I completely got sidetracted.
I was going to tell you how Lisa promted me to write in my journal and as a result I played hookie from church while still at church.
That will have to be a story for another day.