I kept various journals in all stages of my life. Sadly I had to leave most of them in an attic in Thailand when we moved to China and I simply did not have enough space to pack them (plus they were heavy). I sometimes wonder if someone found them, very likely not English readers, or if they would even bother reading them.
Dorette, your story has stayed with me ever since you first shared it. It was one of the moments that inspired this essay. Every time I think about those journals left behind, I feel both the ache of that loss and the gratitude that you still carry the woman who wrote them. Thank you for sharing that part of your story with me.
Listening is a key. Do you hear that still small voice in the center of your mind? The one that always talks to you when the world says no. That's the one if we listen right that loves us back
I do. More than I ever have. I think that’s what this essay helped me realize. The page taught me to hear that voice and over time I learned to trust it. Thank you, Jay. Our conversations have been part of that journey.
I love that your questions became prayers. I’d never thought that about mine but they have for me too. A way of holding onto these questions through prayer and allowing answers to follow. Thanks for sharing ✨
Shelby, the warning across that first cover becomes quietly moving beside the openness the page offered you. The journal kept others out while giving your questions somewhere to enter, and decades later those pages still return you to “the same soul” learning to hear herself. Passing journals with Kaden and Jessa extends that practice from private discernment into a family language of attention, memory, and words that deserve to remain. Thank you for showing how a page can become both refuge and relationship, teaching one person to listen inwardly and a family to listen across generations.
I was especially moved by this sentence: "The page slowed everything down." That may be one of writing's greatest gifts. We often believe we write to preserve our thoughts, but over time we discover that the page has been shaping the one who was writing. Reading this felt less like reading a memory and more like witnessing a lifelong conversation with yourself. Thank you for sharing it so honestly.
This is so touching. I like the truth that putting thoughts down on paper slows us down. I find myself more reflective when I reduce thoughts on a page. Thank you for sharing. ❤️
I kept various journals in all stages of my life. Sadly I had to leave most of them in an attic in Thailand when we moved to China and I simply did not have enough space to pack them (plus they were heavy). I sometimes wonder if someone found them, very likely not English readers, or if they would even bother reading them.
Dorette, your story has stayed with me ever since you first shared it. It was one of the moments that inspired this essay. Every time I think about those journals left behind, I feel both the ache of that loss and the gratitude that you still carry the woman who wrote them. Thank you for sharing that part of your story with me.
Listening is a key. Do you hear that still small voice in the center of your mind? The one that always talks to you when the world says no. That's the one if we listen right that loves us back
I do. More than I ever have. I think that’s what this essay helped me realize. The page taught me to hear that voice and over time I learned to trust it. Thank you, Jay. Our conversations have been part of that journey.
I love that your questions became prayers. I’d never thought that about mine but they have for me too. A way of holding onto these questions through prayer and allowing answers to follow. Thanks for sharing ✨
Shelby, the warning across that first cover becomes quietly moving beside the openness the page offered you. The journal kept others out while giving your questions somewhere to enter, and decades later those pages still return you to “the same soul” learning to hear herself. Passing journals with Kaden and Jessa extends that practice from private discernment into a family language of attention, memory, and words that deserve to remain. Thank you for showing how a page can become both refuge and relationship, teaching one person to listen inwardly and a family to listen across generations.
I was especially moved by this sentence: "The page slowed everything down." That may be one of writing's greatest gifts. We often believe we write to preserve our thoughts, but over time we discover that the page has been shaping the one who was writing. Reading this felt less like reading a memory and more like witnessing a lifelong conversation with yourself. Thank you for sharing it so honestly.
This is so touching. I like the truth that putting thoughts down on paper slows us down. I find myself more reflective when I reduce thoughts on a page. Thank you for sharing. ❤️