Even living in the high desert of CA, we had lots of birds and butterflies. That is one thing I do not get understand about TX. They are finally coming, and I have birds with wonderful color, like cardinals and jays, but there are so few compared to our home in CA. Maybe they just have more food here to choose from and don’t need my syash.
I kept diaries off and on as a kid, chronicling important stuff like supper menus, sibling squabbles, and crazy crushes; but it wasn’t until I began to travel and sing full time that I started journaling in earnest. Over the years, it has been a great way to keep a record of people, places, and important events. But . . . and this is the problem part . . . it also became a way of venting, praying, and scribble-screaming. When I was mad at my husband, Dear Diary got the full load of anger and frustration, but I was not as diligent to record the apology or act of forgiveness. When others wounded me or each other, I recorded the offences, but not necessarily the resolution.
In I Corinthians 13 in the NIV translation of the Bible, it states that love is patient and kind and also keeps no record of wrongs. A while ago, that last bit jumped up and grabbed me. Ouch! I began to realize that my record of wrongs was in a box underneath my bed. And I wasn’t sure what to do about it.
To be honest, it has been an effective way to work things out in my mind—to pray and vent without burning bridges; and it also has helped this non-confrontational person let the perpetrator “have it” without crumpling into a pool of tears, and then not saying what she really wanted to say. Cathartic!
I knew I couldn’t just shred the many journals. They recorded births and deaths, accidents and healings, failures and accomplishments. The history that even included betrayals is important to me, too, so as to keep people and timelines in order at those pivotal moments of my life. (May end up in a novel, after all!) But there were things I knew I had to make disappear—things that would be hurtful if ever read by family and friends. And so, I started the task of going through my adult life in print, whiting out and sometimes ripping out that record of wrongs.
It has been painful reliving periods of trauma and pain, going through them once again. Crying once again. It has been instructive, getting a glimpse into who I was and who I have become. A lot changes between 20 and 70! But most importantly, I have been able to once again forgive—to let go of the wounds that have a tendency to wrap their tentacles around a heart. Some situations were healed and some were not, but I can see that if God kept the long list of my wrongs, I would be forever lost.
In His book, He sees Jesus. In His book, I am covered. And I am thankful for that.
I Corinthians 13: 4-7
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
I feed the birds, and they are not really tidy eaters, so seeds fly hither and yon. If it were up to my husband–the lawn taker-carer–as those seeds started to sprout they would be pulled or weed whacked; but I convinced him to let them grow this time. And look what I got! Since this yard has no trees and only some container gardens I managed to get in, this blast of yellow that attracts birds, butterflies, and bees is a welcome addition. I am loving the color!
L onely . . . in this time
O f increasing unbelief, looking frantically, hungering,
N ot for miracles, but for signposts that used to be so faith-clear, undisputed—
E ver-present testament, truth, surety,
L ooking for sanctuary, and I guess . . . just lonely for
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you.
Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.”