The church was like every other church. Well, much bigger, but the same as the ones I had grown up in. The people were the same too. Mostly white, middle-class women all joined together in the latest fashion and hair color. The heart of Oklahoma. Fall was approaching. Time for another women’s conference. I loved them. This would certainly be good, but I didn’t think it would be life changing.
All she said (that I can remember) was “Make and appointment with the King and keep it.” Oh she said other things, something about weight loss and journaling, but that line right there threw me off kilter.
But, that was all she needed to say. So, I began to journal. I used her formula for awhile, then just as organic as the raw earth itself is, so I became. Moldable, teachable, able to change. Storms came with that organic nature. Hard rocky places needed to be blasted with dynamite so the Spirit of God could get to my heart. So, I journaled. And journaled. And journaled.
All of it. Still do. I have no idea what number journal this is. I just like it.
This makes Him a very accessible, everyday God. We are close. He’s read every word for years on end. My triumphs and defeats. My self-loathing and palpable pride.
He is every day for me. And I am for Him.
When the closet throws up and I clean it.
When we play
When pain brings joy
When spelling and theology share the same page beside an action figure robot thing.
He is. Always. Every Day.