I have been journally regularly since 2001. I was twelve. You can imagine what my first journals held and how incredibly funny they were.
Last night, at the age of twenty-three, (as of tomorrow) I began another journal. It's first entry sounded more mature than the first entry of 2001. I'm no longer that kid. Funny thing is I'm still her.
*Please don't let me lose you here*
I'm not trying to sound off my rocker. It's just that in the back of my mind, under all the lessons learned, I'm still her.
If you have ever revisited old journals, you know what I'm talking about. You read and you think, "Thank you, Lord, that I've grown up. Thank you that my view on life has matured", but you still recognize that person. Her fears and failures still, for lack of a better word, "Haunt" you.
Sometimes, it scares me how much I still relate to that twelve year old. On the flip side, I am completely aware that she lacked so much of the knowledge I've gained just by living.
All that to say, raise your coffee mugs or classes of orange juice. I want to make a toast.
*Here's to years past, to maturing, and to closer walks with the One who writes your story!*