Tuesday, September 2, 2014


I know. It looks like a regular old notebook. But it is not. I found this in August when I was cleaning out my "shed of shame." I had (no joke) at least forty spiral notebooks. They dated back to first grade. This was nestled amount them, and I did not recognize it at all. But I flipped it open, and within minutes realized what it was. The travel journal of my childhood friend. She chronicled her first plane ride in 1995, a visit to Washington DC for the wedding of a relative. It is packed with pictures, and entries carefully written in the handwriting of a young girl. I have no clue why I have it. Maybe she left it at my house during a sleep over? Did I borrow it? I have no recollection of it whatsoever. But my heart stopped a little when I realized what I had in my hands, and I'm mailing it to her daughter this week. Because as cruel as it may seem, my beloved friend passed away leaving her husband and young children behind over a year ago. I cannot ease their grief, but I hope that this is a blessing to her beautiful young daughter (who will soon be the age her mom was when she took this trip).

While a part of me hates that I even had this in my possession in the first place, I stand in wonder at how God can use me in whatever awkward stage of growth I am in. If I was not such a pack rat, I would not have had this in my possession for nearly twenty years. If I was not going through this transition process right now, then perhaps I would not have recognized its value, tossing it into recycling. I like to think God has used even my "keep everything" illness for His glory, to allow this to pass on to her family at just the right time. 

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