It was a full day yesterday, so this morning as I chastised myself for missing a day of journaling here in the post, I thought of Daddy and his faithful note-making for all but the first few of his 96 years. He logged farm activities, company entertained, worship attendance… all the regular rhythms of his life, and the people in his circle. How I long for his discipline.
His medium was pen on paper, and I can’t imagine him enjoying this blogging. Yet his daily journaling is precisely my inspiration for the post. Remembering, I simply had to bring out some of his journals again, just to hold them and turn the pages. The box I opened is pictured above. To my surprise, the one on top was dated on the first page, “January 2008.” That was the year he died. The treasure in my hands seemed somehow light, ethereal. I was lost in reverence.
Beginning the day this way has made it oddly difficult to sit at the keyboard and finally write. I didn’t always like what he had to say, but I always respected him. And as I read his entries, I’m reminded that if one has something to say, she or he should say it succinctly and be done. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, and he was a modest man. I may have just now heard him sniffle and say, “‘Nough said.”