Little Books

There are four little notebooks, up on the shelf in the closet that belongs mostly to my sisters now.

July 2008 I was handed my first of the little books; a blue and brown paisley pattern, intended to serve as a journal during a youth group trip to Mexico.

I scribbled my thoughts, worries, lessons, notes in that book during our ten days of travel, and when didn’t stop upon our return to US soil.

I was between sophomore, junior year of high school that summer, and I had filled those four little books before I graduated high school.

I have a journal now, of course. Used mostly for prayers, it’s a beautiful leather-bound book that my mother gave me when I moved back to Mexico in January, 2011. She wrote Bible verses, prayers, notes to me throughout the book, and many are the times I have scrawled the thoughts and worries of my heart out in that book, only to turn the page and find a Bible verse she’d quoted months before, perfectly applicable to my words, an answer to a prayer I had barely prayed.

That journal sits next to my bed, along with my Bible, at school now.

I found another of the little books on my dresser here at home. My own short, tight handwriting on the first page, the rest is blank, waiting for use.

I took it off the dresser, slid it through the slats onto my top bunk bed, wrote in in yesterday, again this morning.

Why another little book, when I have my journal? Why more pages of my same packed handwriting, in a new book, turning new pages?

It’s because of those high school books. The same style, shape, size of book, differentiated only by pattern, those books are my heart in written form.

I flipped through them, a day or two ago, and found prayers. Prayers and answered prayers. That was what caught my attention.

Caught my attention because I saw God working in those books. I asked Him questions and He answered them. I asked to hear from Him, and I did. I asked Him what He wanted, what He thought, what He had planned, and He showed me, at least a little.

And I miss that.

I know God is always sovereign. I know God is always working. I know He is always wise, honorable, loving, worthy.

But it’s been awhile since I opened my eyes and my heart enough to see it.

So that’s why there’s another little book in my bed, in my book bag, with me. Because I’m starting this year writing and asking and praying.

Praying that my heart is soft and my eyes are open, because He’s working and He’s speaking and He’s answering, and I want to see it and I want to feel it and I want to remember it.

So I’m writing it.



4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. anniewiltse
    Jan 05, 2014 @ 16:43:36

    I love this, Natalia.

    I started organizing my bookshelves yesterday (a long overdue task) and found my journal from my first year of college. I didn’t read much if any of it, just the occasional snippet, but even just the sight of neatly printed letters written in Sharpie marker was enough to stir in me, again, the desire to journal consistently.

    It’s a marvel to me that our journals speak to us so strongly, that the Lord works mighty through our thoughts there, but He is, after all, the God who is the Word, and it’s a miracle to see that unfold.


  2. nataliaria
    Jan 05, 2014 @ 22:13:24

    Thanks Annie :) I write here, of course, and I’ve taken to writing prayers, thoughts, concerns, lists, even little narratives, on the backs of school pages, inside notebooks, and in the notes on my phone. I’m looking forward to having all those things in one place again- for organizational purpose, yes, but more so for the ability to look back through and, as you say, see how His working is unfolding around me.


  3. Trackback: Goodbye Journal | Lead Me Where
  4. Trackback: I Might Miss Something | Lead Me Where

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