I always get an interesting feeling as I gaze at a blank page, so full of potential and possibilities. It seems almost sacred, untouched and yet to be marred by an outside force. Still, what seems to be a violation of its purity actually makes it more valuable in the long run, for who can stare at a blank page for more than a few seconds without getting bored and turning away in disgust? It is its immaculate nature that makes it uninteresting. How much more time we spend pouring over the newspaper or the latest celebrity gossip! How much more we treasure the pages that hold Shakespeare's works, the musings of Anne Frank, and especially the Bible!
I feel it is the same with our lives. People want to go through their time here on the planet untouched by the very things that make us human. We want to avoid all the pain and conflict that makes us who we are, and gives our everyday lives shape and meaning. But to talk to someone who has never known hardship is like looking at a blank page: intriguing for a moment, but ultimately uninteresting. We can relate to neither, and so they have no major role in our lives.
Lately, I've been having this feeling that I'm about to go through a major change, as I move on from one era of my life to another. I'm about to graduate college (hopefully), and with that comes a plethora of opportunities and decisions. After being married for two years, the baby itch is getting stronger, as is the need to be doing something important with my life. With family, job, and student needs each tugging on me stronger every day, a small voice has been emerging from deep inside, telling me on Whom I can rely through all of this. I'm still learning how to answer that call.
I've tried starting various journals and blogs before. All of them lasted a year or two and either fizzled out, or accidentally got deleted from my computer. (I wasn't too happy about that.) For some reason, though, this feels different. I feel a sense of urgency to write and record throughout this time, as though I will need it later on. I don't expect to be a literary genius. I only hope to somehow sort out my thoughts and preserve them so that my struggles and dreams will be able to give my life shape, and perhaps someone else's life direction. I don't want to be a blank page. I want my life to have meaning, even if it entails being written on, for who knows better than the Great Author?
