Words of Redemption

This post is part 2 in a series entitled Symbols of Redemption. For part 1, click here.

Last week, in part one of this series, I talked about my many incomplete journals. I admitted that I’m pretty good about coming up with new ideas and starting new things, but that I often have trouble carrying those ideas to completion.

Because this is so much a part of my personality, my journals became symbols of incompleteness beyond the blank pages themselves. They were symbols of brokenness, a lack of discipline, and all the unfinished ideas I couldn’t muster the strength to finish.

And often, those symbols led to guilt over what could have been, but wasn’t.

For some, guilt is a process of recognizing a mistake or flaw, and then taking corrective action. These days, that’s usually how I operate.

But in the Brandon Satrom era of 1997-2003, guilt was usually a prelude to pity, self-doubt and even more guilt.

I still remember those feelings. The enemy was very, very good at putting me in that place.

Any guesses on what would have been the last thing I wanted to do when I was trapped in the guilt cycle?

Write? Journal? Exactly.

Over time, the journaling slowed to a trickle, then stopped.

And then change came With another journal, in June of 2003. But not because there was another new journal, or because of how I obtained it.

Change came because it was time for change. God was at work, as he always had been.

The journal was from a friend. I was a groomsman in his wedding, and as a gift, he gave each of us something chosen with each individual in mind. He knew that I had a passion for writing, and so he presented me with a leather-bound journal.

It was a very thoughtful gift, and I was both honored and touched.

But the truth was that, by this point, I hadn’t written in a journal for years. The guilt cycle was so engrained that I’d almost forgotten it was there.

So I thanked my friend and put the journal aside, not really knowing what I would do with it.

In the days and weeks after, I began to wonder if it was time to try again.

After a month, I knew it was. Somehow, I knew it had to be different this time.

It was time to recover.

So, on July 19, 2003, I opened the cover of that leather-bound journal and wrote two words in large print on the page.

“Rehab Journal”

A journal of rehabilitation. A journal of change and growth. Somehow, I knew even then what was taking place. It was the beginning of another chapter. This one with the themes of completion, restoration and redemption.

This time, I knew it was time to finish. And, by finishing, it was time to start something new.

At the time, I had no clue that finishing would take four years…

Popularity: 43% [?]

If you liked this post, subscribe to my RSS feed, or subscribe via Email.