Gifts

I've been keeping journals, mostly as a form of prayer, at least since I was a sophomore in high school. I write in them, fill them up (or decide that I want to move on to the next one, and tear the last few pages out-- I'm ok with this, sometimes you're in a whole new book), and then never look at them again. This is partly because my perspective changes (e.g., at the time, I thought Thing A was a stupid thing to do, and in retrospect, it's a really fond memory. Or the same thing, reversed.), but also because I've bought into this crazy myth that the progress of our wisdom is linear. Surely, I'm further along than I was then. Surely Di at 16 and Di at 20 cannot have anything to say to Di at 29.

But God is SUCH a loving nag. "Hey, honey-- how about you start thumbing through some of those old journals?"

No.

"Hey. I think it might be a good idea for you to go back and look at some of our old conversations."

No.

"Look, kid. I'm telling you this because it's better than you think. It's going to help. You're going to like it. Go do it."

Oh. Well. In that case...

And yes, there were things that I giggled about, and things that made me cringe just a little. But I noticed something striking-- pages and pages of "thank yous"-- sometimes for easy good things, and other times for places where I struggled, but could see beginning shimmers of good.

When everything I see has a bit of God-gift in it, I also see that God is enormous and abundant and cherishes me. Di at 16 and Di at 20 did indeed have something to say.