Years ago, I was given a new journal by a friend. I remember sitting down to write in it for the first time, opening the cover to the first page with a pen at the ready….and I had no idea what to write.
A first page seemed so important, like a first impression. Chances are I would see it often when sitting down to write. The first page couldn’t just be silliness – it needed to be good and smart and worthy of such a prime spot.
I sat and thought and thought and sat, until finally I simply turned the page and began scribbling away. I had no issues writing on page two about the mundane things of my day. And page one remained blank, a salute to what might have been.
If you were to pick up my current journal, or the ones I’ve written in with varying degrees of consistency for the past 10+ years – you’d open the cover and likely find a blank first page. It’s misleading – at first you might think the journal is unused. But turn past the first page and the rest is full of scribbles, lists, and what-have-yous I felt needed documentation. My dilemma of years ago continues to even now – the first page just feels too weighty for me. I try to think of vital words that I need to see often – something snappy or stately for myself or the sneaky reader who has stolen my journal (please don’t steal my journal). I can never find the right words, and so the first page is and has always been…blank.
Tonight as I cracked the spine of a brand new journal, right on time for a new year, I ceremoniously turned to page two with pen in hand and I stopped. I turned back to page one, and stared.
A blank page. A new morning mercy. A clean slate. An unwritten chapter.
Maybe this is the reminder I’ve always needed, that God was hiding away just for me, waiting for me to catch on for over a decade.
I don’t need fancy words or impressive quotes to remind me of who I am and who I want to be. No, what I need most days, and desperately so, is this: a white blank page. A reminder that all is washed clean by the Lamb. He has absorbed every sinful and selfish part of me – and the first page of my journal is a reminder of all that He has done for me.
Washed. Made new by mercy.
And not only that – but He slips part of Himself for me right under my nose – waiting for me to see it, to see Him, and to see how He loves me so.
He is waiting, wishing for us to see Him. Are we looking?
Thank you, Father.
willing hands 