The Danger of Reading Your Own Journals

I have a hefty armful of journals that I've scrawled in over the years.  They're not very tidy from a chronological standpoint, because, for example, I have two or three that I'm writing in currently.  Which one I choose to write in depends on two things, typically: A) Subject matter, or B) whichever one is closest.

I have journals from college, journals from my early married years, journals specifically for overseas trips, journals just for my motorcycle adventures, journals for Scripture.  It's a mess, really. 

Before I get to the reason for my writing today, I want to point out that I don't use journals because I'm organized and I don't use them because I'm spiritual and I don't use them because I live an "intentional life".  I write in my journals so I don't forget things.  It's the same reason I take photographs.  I've found that I can remember a lot of experiences I've had over the years just using my gray matter, but when I look at a picture or re-read a journal entry about an experience, I RE-LIVE the experience.  Much, much better.  It's that invigorating reminder that makes my journal entries so important.

So, last night I paused while reading the novel I currently have my nose in, sat my coffee down, reached over to my bookshelf and yanked out my most recent journal.  I flipped to the front of it, to the well-aged entries, to see what I might find.

Now, the danger of reading your own journals is that you're likely to get shaken, slapped or stirred.  The handful of pages I flipped through last night contained forgotten moments of wonder and awe and glory - my wife was there, my sons, my friends.  There were reminders of God's faithfulness and kept promises.  There were prayers for the future and testimonies of truth made in times of strong faith that gave me confidence as I read them.  I was moved, and frankly, I felt a little bit silly that my heart feels so weak at times in spite of all the good that has come my way by the hand of God.

In the end, I've renewed my commitment to keep writing, if for no other reason than that someday, someone (maybe my kids!) will read those journals after I'm gone and find the story of a relentless God making His life known in the life of an ordinary man.