Pages of Faithfulness.

Saturday morning was slow. It was lazy. And comfortable. And familiar.

This morning I felt the prodding of the Lord to go back through old journals, and so I compiled them, gathering them from every corning of my room: 

the ones on the book shelf just a bit dusty, 

the one on the coffee table all too familiar

the ones under the bed all but forgotten. 

I spent three hours in those pages, remembering and recalling and crying and blushing. I cannot believe I once thought those thoughts, crushed on those boys, was insecure about those things. But in those pages I also heard my own voice. The dreams are the same; the desires, familiar. 

And the God who made it all happen sat back with me and savored the view:

He has been so faithful. Page after page, with ink spilled on both sides, He has proven Himself to be the constant companion of my soul. The only One who could walk all those paths and heed all those thoughts. He alone has been the common thread in every season. 

These books are our story.

And they cry,

"But I am poor and needy;

Yet the Lord thinks upon me.

You are my help and my deliverer;

Do not delay, O my God"

Psalm 40:17