Remind Me

For all the times I've cringed over my silly schoolgirl rantings or bit my lip at pages where I poured out the pains of my heart, I don't regret all the time I've spent keeping journals. I'd kept a "diary" as a child (Lisa Frank designed, if that gives you any point of reference), but my first real journal came from my mom. I was eleven, and the book, with it's floral print cloth cover and lined pages, beckoned me to write like no other blank sheet of paper ever had. I'd written a fair amount in the years prior, but never so singularly focused on recording my thoughts, musings, and experiences of life.

Thirteen years later, and with one small bookcase worth of completed journals, I still add to what I've affectionately called, since the beginning of my journaling journey, "The Tiffany Archives." My latest is a large, black book with my name engraved on the cover. (Oh, how blissfully far I've come from the days of Lisa Frank!) As I flip through it, I realize I've learned to be more contemplative in my writing, not just jotting down the boring details of the day with lightening speed, and wrongly claim I'd captured it. I started viewing my days as opportunities to experience something "journal-worthy" and then approach my entry as a blank canvas to paint a brief tableau, however poor, of what my experiences have meant to me, how they've moved me. I'm still learning, and I hold firm to the fact that keeping journals has done a world of good for me as an aspiring writer.

But there's much more worth in the practice than just improved writing. To be honest, I dreaded rereading my journals and hardly ever cracked open their covers again once I'd finished them. With the exception of treasured family vacations, Christmases past, or my first date with my now husband, I was afraid to relive the rawer moments of my life. I knew from the way I laughed at my first diary, with its one line entries, that I'd chagrin at my childish upsets and "I'm so grown up, look what I know" philosophizing.

A few months ago I decided to start from the very beginning--that flowery book mom never used and passed along to me. As I read, I found myself caught up in my own life story. I don't say that in a narcissistic way. No self-love here, trust me! If you read even a page of those early journals, you'd know there is no room for pride here. I would scribble my rage, or write all prim and proper, using big words I thought sounded impressive, but were totally misused (...come to think of it, I still do this!). As I was sifting through the pages upon pages of emotion and jumbled thoughts, I realized how rare and special this is--to see yourself grow up, to watch an unfolding of thought, emotion, and character in a way photographs and home videos can't capture. What else can capture your thoughts, deepest feelings, and ideas...in your own words? In the present moment, penned on paper for you to read down the road?

I've enjoyed watching myself grow and become (there's that divenire again!). I'm fond of likening it to metamorphosis, but then again, I've always had a fascination with butterflies. As I've read, my husband has asked for snapshots of who I was then. Unfortunately, some of the descriptions have been as follows: whiner, brat, selfish, and full of puppy-love. I was quite the ugly grubbling...still am at my worst moments! And the change to become a butterfly is a slow (and often painful) process. I've seen it happen in some more positive moments: practicing compassion, sharing others' heartache, learning to be still and meditate on what God has done for me. It's a humbling process.

It's my birthday. And on my birthday, it's inevitable for me to examine my past, particularly in the last year. It's been a particularly eventful year, life changing and character shaping in ways I couldn't have imagined! Once I've sifted through the heights of joy and depths of heartache I've felt this year, I go back through the past twenty-something, through journals and scraps of memory. Trying to sort out, "Who am I?"

Today, God has reminded me who I am...to Him and in Him. It's enough to make me feel so unworthy and so in awe of the life He has given me. It's been a great one! Imperfect. Sinful. But SAVED. And BLESSED beyond measure. It's been a joy-filled journey, one I want to continue in the power of His Spirit, with hope and gratitude for His Grace.

Whether it's my birthday or some seemingly insignificant day of the year, I need reminders of who I am to God. Re-reading journals, listening to uplifting music, and reading God's Word have all helped me with that. Let these videos remind you who you are too...