At the library last week, The Journal Keeper: A Memoir by Phyllis Theroux called to me. Despite the fact that I have a pile of books waiting for me to read them, I picked it up. The name itself spoke to me. How could I resist?
I read half of it today. "Savored" would be a more accurate word as I drank it in and enjoyed every moment. The book covers Theroux's life from 2000 - 2005. She's in her sixties, caring for her mother who is in her eighties. Theroux is a woman coming to terms with what it means to live and what it means to die. She deals with questions we all must face.While she and I have very different faith walks, she is a woman longing for a deeper connection to the spiritual .
She is also a writer, and as such, I recognize a kindred spirit. I, too, am a journal-keeper. I've been journaling for over twenty-one years now. So much of my life is in those bound books. I pick them up and read the pages and I am back in that moment of time, simple moments, many of which would be lost forever had I not recorded them, but together, they have all conspired to make me who I am.
Stay tuned - I plan to offer some brief kernels of wisdom from "The Journal Keeper" in the coming days.