More on writing it down

Journaling has been a part of my life since I was a young girl back in elementary school.  I wrote about the weather and what I had for breakfast, our family vacations and whether I remembered to wear my earrings, just childlike recordings.  I heavily relied on my journal as a teenager and young woman struggling to make sense of life and would try to write almost every night—no matter how late it was.  I wasn’t stellar at it, and I’m still not.  I continued through college--the learning curve there was steep.  Even now as a mother of five I still write, recording goals, questions, insights, feelings about the people in my life, struggles with assignments, what I’m grateful for, books I’ve read, movies we’ve seen, funny things my children say, lessons I’ve learned, weaknesses I’m working on, and good memories of regular days I don’t want to forget.  I don’t paint an unrealistic picture of life. I want whoever reads them to know the mind of a very ordinary, average woman, a mother at the turn-of-century.  Why I did what I did, what motivated and inspired me.  I want my grandchildren to know what we ate for dinner, what my normal days were like, what things cost, what concerns I had, how I overcame a parenting dilemma, how I came to know my Savior, and how my convictions have developed.  That life was hard at times, that I had all sorts of weaknesses and questions, but that most of the time I felt incredibly blessed and content.

When we read diaries from the olden days, isn’t that the kind of stuff we linger over?  Newspapers can fill in the history, but what was normal life like?  How did headlines affect them personally?  Did they have the same trials and triumphs?  Did they love like we do?  What did they worry about?  What did my grandma feed my dad as a four year old?  Was he as rambunctious as my boys?  Where did my kids get their talents?  What was it like for my Scottish grandparents to be so poor, raising my mom and three other children on a ship’s carpenter’s wage in a two-bedroom apartment?  How did my mom decide to cross the ocean and journey to America?  How did her religious beliefs evolve?  What inner turmoil did my great grandparents have?  It’s fascinating to see how similar people are through time—we really are more alike than not.  I want my kids to know all these things about their parents—we really were kids and teenagers.  We really do know what it's like to have a broken heart, to be lonely and unsure, and what it feels like to fall in love.  We were scared, excited, nervous and impatient too.

Were people better at writing things down in the olden days?  Or do we treasure these tomes because they are rare?  I will submit that they had better penmanship a generation or two back.  I love old grandma handwriting.  But that is a huge part of the beauty of a handwritten journal—an insight to a person’s personality.  Don’t shy away from it because you’re not proud of what comes out of the pen.  Carry on, we’re just out of practice.  I venture to say that our written legacies will be just as valuable to our posterity as the worn leather diaries of yesteryear are to us.

But even if no one ever wants to read what I’ve written, I’ve been blessed to have a record if only for myself.  When I read about my life growing up, I see how life has become clearer, how my convictions have been strengthened.  I can feel the love and acceptance my family has given me over the years.  I feel blessed and quietly confident—so different from how I felt as a teen.  I can see an issue better after I’ve taken time to think about it through writing.  I fall in love all over again with my husband and our children.  When I read about days when the kids were younger, I’m reminded of each one’s birth, our simple days, how hard and long they were but also how much I enjoyed the stories and nap times together.  I relive those days.  They bring a smile to my face and I’m reminded of the joy in simple living.  In fact, just the other day I read to my 12 year old daughter the events and days surrounding her birth and what it was like to have three little ones.  I think it was eye-opening for her and I know it helped me appreciate and love her more as I remembered the struggles I'd had back then.  I know all over again exactly what it felt to be a teenager—all the insecurities along with good memories.  I feel confidence about the future because I have lived through some of my fears, I’ve developed stronger faith, and I have many recorded experiences of answered prayers.  Although there’s nothing news-worthy or interesting enough to publish, I feel blessed because my life is not relegated to a memory.  It lives within the pages of my journals.