Reading my journal
For me, blogging is a natural extension of something I have done for the past thirty-something years -- write in a journal. I've waxed and waned on the frequency of my journalling during that time, but through it all I've been pretty consistent in doing it.
Journals took on a whole new significance this year. After Seth and Jessica were killed, leaving Alexander an orphan, we were fortunate enough to recover both Seth and Jessica's journals. These small and imperfect windows into their souls are precious beyond words. I don't think marriage and fatherhood was as easy as my son had envisioned it, but I know from reading his journal that he loved being married and he loved being a father.
It was during a discussion of their journals that Jennifer told me something that made my own journalling worth every minute. She and Jessica would meet at our house every Wednesday and spend the day canning, sewing, quilting or just talking. When school and work would permit, Seth or Jesse would join them for the day. Jennifer said that Seth would come into my office, pull one of my journals off the bookshelf and start reading. Jennifer said Jessica told him "Seth, you shouldn't read your dad's journals!" and Seth's answer was "Why not? He's writing about us."
I was writing about them and about Jennifer and Jesse and Devri and Todd and Laura and Emma Lynn and Adrienne and Patrick and Connor and Dalene. They are what makes life complete.
A friend who lost a daughter in a automobile accident told me (10 years later for him) that he only thinks about his daughter about once an hour now. I don't know what to think of that -- if that's a good thing or a bad thing. All I know is that there is nothing that consumes my thoughts more than them. For me, it's a good day when I don't think about the day they were killed. Hell would be reliving that day for the rest of eternity.
Fortunately, that's not the plan. There is a plan. God is the author. We are the actors (sometimes wittingly, mostly not) and the hardest part is reading from the right script.
Journals took on a whole new significance this year. After Seth and Jessica were killed, leaving Alexander an orphan, we were fortunate enough to recover both Seth and Jessica's journals. These small and imperfect windows into their souls are precious beyond words. I don't think marriage and fatherhood was as easy as my son had envisioned it, but I know from reading his journal that he loved being married and he loved being a father.
It was during a discussion of their journals that Jennifer told me something that made my own journalling worth every minute. She and Jessica would meet at our house every Wednesday and spend the day canning, sewing, quilting or just talking. When school and work would permit, Seth or Jesse would join them for the day. Jennifer said that Seth would come into my office, pull one of my journals off the bookshelf and start reading. Jennifer said Jessica told him "Seth, you shouldn't read your dad's journals!" and Seth's answer was "Why not? He's writing about us."
I was writing about them and about Jennifer and Jesse and Devri and Todd and Laura and Emma Lynn and Adrienne and Patrick and Connor and Dalene. They are what makes life complete.
A friend who lost a daughter in a automobile accident told me (10 years later for him) that he only thinks about his daughter about once an hour now. I don't know what to think of that -- if that's a good thing or a bad thing. All I know is that there is nothing that consumes my thoughts more than them. For me, it's a good day when I don't think about the day they were killed. Hell would be reliving that day for the rest of eternity.
Fortunately, that's not the plan. There is a plan. God is the author. We are the actors (sometimes wittingly, mostly not) and the hardest part is reading from the right script.
posted by RickOwen | 6:18 AM
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