Journal Blessings

Over a year ago, I felt in my heart that I needed to purchase journals for my son, Studly, and my daughter, Baby Girl. Not for them to write their thoughts in, but for me to share memories, hopes and dreams for them and their future.

This idea was born from my past and I wanted to share a small (I know I probably won't keep it short, but please bear with me) piece of it with you.

I remember as a child, sitting in the kitchen, at the dinner table, or in the living room listening to my mother tell stories of my past. Things that were unique to me; who I was and who I was becoming. The intricate things that only a mother knows.

Like how I was (still am) a "night owl." My father would be on one of his many missions, (he served his country in the Air Force for 26 years) and because I would not go to sleep early, I would stay up with my mom and be her company. Sometimes I would sleep with her at night and she would have to shake me from my slumber and send me lovingly but earnestly back to my own room. (Turns out she didn't like having feet in her face while sleeping; who knew?)

Stories of mannerisms that I had (have) of talking fast and too much! Hearing her tell me how I could fall asleep anywhere, while my sister had to be in her bed at bedtime, or she would let her disapproval be known to all.

Feeling her kisses on my cheek during the middle of the night, because she had gotten up to check on my brother who has asthma. I remember mom saying, "That once her son was born, she never got a full nights sleep again for many years." Her mother's intuition had woken her during the black of the night, on several occasions, where my brother would have been knocking on death's door if mom had not been there.

Waking each morning to mom making coffee and all sorts of breakfast for her children. Cream of wheat on the first day of school each year; I think it was by chance at first, but then a tradition was born.

She had a gift for being able to "tune her children out" until she heard a blood curdling scream that signified a line had been crossed and someone was about to get beat. (I envy that gift at times.)

She let us create and use our imaginations in the house and outside. We built forts in the dining room that could be left up for a week. The backyard and surrounding fields were our battlegrounds, circus rings, zoos and whatever else our eager minds could dream.

As a child I took for granted that I would always have mom there to share my life with me and to help me create some of those same memories for my children. But as fate would have it, this will be our 5th Christmas without her. She is home in heaven rejoicing with our heavenly Father and celebrating eternity with Him.

My kids love to sit and pour over photo albums for hours. They giggle at stories from their small pasts and beg to hear more. They crave knowledge of who they were such a short time ago, and dream of who they will become in the following years.

The memories that I have from my past seem to fade a little each year with so many precious new memories being lived. So I write in their journals. I record who they are today, so they can share their yesterdays with their tomorrows.