The conversation turned to the problem of evil, the power of an enemy who relentlessly pursues those who belong to the One True Living God and the possibility of a certain, specific hope. Basically, we were discussing the probability of a happy ending, despite the middle, ugly part of the story.
Don’t we want, more than anything, to have our happily ever after?
You may have heard that journaling is good for you. Perhaps you have stumbled across the growing amount of supportive data collected which shows short term physiological benefits to health that occur on the cellular level, beyond the mental health benefits and in addition to the emotional improvements. Let’s face it, like brushing, flossing, and exercising you know journaling might be good for you. You’re just unsure how to make it as regular as say…a bowel movement. (I just appreciate these kind of semi-gross connections). Or perhaps you’ve seen the variety of notebooks, planners and journals promising to help you in every aspect of your life. Or maybe, just maybe, you remember being a child staring in wonder at the new little diary you received, with it’s little dangling key, and promise of secrets to come dancing in your head.
On the other hand, you may be here as one who is a bonafide, hard-core journaler who dedicates a plethora of pages and piles of paper to the practice of journaling. You are the Instagram flat-lay, reel extraordinaire. You have a ridiculous amount of washi-tape, a journal stash that would make Barnes & Noble jealous, and enough pens to keep you writing through Armageddon. I feel you.
But whoever you are and however you got here, I want to share what I have found to allow for a sustainable journaling practice, and why you need to hear me out.
I am God’s Workmanship. I am a writer. I am curating the life of Christ in me.
I have been thinking about my choices lately, and how my one word for 2022 has been quietly working in the background of my life, silently bearing witness to God’s clear direction for my mind, heart, spirit and soul. The word Curate emerged as the direction for my new year somewhere around the same time last year. It is in the season of Autumn, the beautiful expression of dying when each year my word reveals itself, along with the falling of flame-colored leaves, the soon-to-be bared trees, the cooler air. It is birthed in the days just prior to the new year…and in this rhythm of seasonal change, God prepares my heart, faithfully as I commit to listening and accepting the possibility that He might actually have a word to speak to me, even one that would last the year. One word that would shape and undergird the lessons and choices of a whole year? I can hear the chiding remarks from naysayers, but lean in friend…I promise you it has been this way for me. I open my heart and mind to hearing God speak His very breath into my being in a word. You think it’s not possible? Well, I am telling you, it simply is.
Today I am sharing a bit about a gallery and community which has become such a part of my creative growth and expression that I had to bring it to the blog and hash it out for you in a clear and concise manner (um…hopefully).
Grab a cup of something delightful, and get comfy, I am going to tell you a true story about how I came to know about the Wickford Art Association and my journey of growth as a poet and local arts appreciator. Go on, I’ll wait while you grab that beverage…