Journal from March 2024
Preamble
The following text was written out a few weeks ago, as a candid and honest reflection on my life at that moment in time. I still carry these thoughts with me, and they continue to shape me. I hope they serve to benefit and encourage you in some way.
On a practical note, I’ve realized recently that my publishing schedule has simply been too strict for me at this stage of my life. In this season I’ve been making an effort to spend more time outside, with loved ones, and making use of my hands. Because of that, I’ve little time or desire to sit at the computer and write. Writing is something I love, yes, but the screen of my laptop drains me as little else in my life does. So, I’ve decided to make another adjustment to my Substack schedule.
From now on you can expect to see my regular Photo Friday every week, however my longer posts will be more sporadic, likely only about once a month. My hope is to continue providing everything I post for free, but the less frequent pieces will likely go behind a paywall after a certain period of time, so that non-paying subscribers will only have access to them for a limited time after publishing. The goal is to enable writing to be a more sustainable hobby for me — it takes a lot out of me to publish twice a week, and leaves little time outside of my full-time job for simply enjoying life. So, I’m reevaluating, and making changes for the better. Know that I am so grateful for each of you who reads these words of mine, and I appreciate your following along as I continue to grow and learn.
Here’s to continuing to write, for the joy of writing, and the benefit of those who read.
I woke around four o’clock this morning with thoughts of the Carolinas swirling in my mind. They’re still swirling there, like laundry waiting for me on the other side of the washing machine, looking at me, somehow expectant. The image hasn’t resolved into anything clear to see, yet I keep coming back to this washing machine for some reason, as I have for a number of years. More often lately. I don’t know why.
I didn’t publish last week, and I missed this week’s regular “deadline.” The former slip was caused by a quick slide down the last slopes of a depression I’d been confusedly walking into for a number of weeks, and the more recent was the result of eating too much cheese too quickly and spending a night heaving till my whole body felt like it’d served as a punching bag for some indifferent brawler, not caring that I had plans for my weekend and a job to get to. I’ve bills to pay, after all.
For all that, I am thankful. My bills are still paid, and though my first cup of coffee since Saturday isn’t sitting all that well, my stomach can now tolerate more than bananas and sourdough. Not much more, mind you, and I have been reminded once again that the health of my gut, and thus the consistency and quality of my diet, are supremely important. Maybe publishing this rather candid piece for others’ eyes to see will encourage me to take a more serious approach to that ever-present concern.
So many thoughts roll through my mind on these days when I actually take time to notice them. Questions I’ll likely never receive answers to. Feelings I can do little to dispel, and must simply carry with a groan until they pass on and float away. Few of them can I articulate very well, uttering them as near shapeless prayers to a God who I know I don’t have to explain myself to. I am not sad, yet I feel sadness; not alone, yet I feel lonely. I am free, yet often I feel so very … stuck. I long for an open space that leads onto a wide plane of adventure, yet my heart yearns too for a warm home filled with familiar people. I teeter between these desires, uncertain of what to pursue, and with the Croucher at my feet ready to make difficulties in either course I take. Whatever way I choose, my vices will find a path to the surface of things, where they will be plain to see just long enough for me to cast them away in desperate hope that I can manage to be as my Father is. For that is my only hope in the end. To be as He is.
As an older gentleman once observed of me, I am a free spirit, yet I carry a heavy heart. He spoke perceptively.
Today is a day in which I feel that truth keenly.
Yet in these moments, when the weight of my own thoughts brings tears into my eyes, I take comfort in this truth: I am not the writer of my story, nor even the primary character in it. I am often bruised and battered, and knocked to the floor without a chance of standing up on my own more than a few seconds. The difficulties of life and its complexities are too vast for me to make sense of, and the burdens of my own life are enough to cause me to stagger in a weary and uneven gait as I attempt the journey onward and upward, even without the added weight of the world’s troubles to drag me down. No, I am not strong enough to stand under such a load. Financial stress; worries about the struggles of loved ones; health concerns for oneself and others; emotional pain; physical pain; broken relationships; relationships that might have been but weren’t, and those which were, and yet were dark; the struggle against personal vice; national violence; local violence; violence in one’s own home; mental anguish, and the distress of not understanding one’s own thoughts, of not trusting one’s own mind; uncertainty about the future; brokenness in the past… So much. I am not strong enough for such.
And I do not need to be.
My God is the only one I have found who can bear such a burden. And not only is He capable, but He is willing. I do not know what your experience of God has been, or of those who claim to be His followers. But I submit to you this question: In this world, where nothing seems unshakable and no one infallible, where do you place your trust? Upon what do you fix your hope, dear reader?
My comfort and hope remains in my God. Because it must. Because of the things I listed above and the myriad more I shall witness and walk through in my life in the years to come, I will continue trusting in the only One who has proved ever-faithful, always-patient, and utterly unshakable.
This is not a piece I composed for the sake of garnering views, nor is it meant to showcase my writing prowess (however much of that I possess). It is merely an honest account of the current state of my mind, and a reflection upon how I’ve been feeling this year. This is, essentially, a digital journal, which I’m not shy in sharing, because I believe those who read from me ought to have the chance to glimpse my struggles. For all those interested, know that I am quite open to questions, so long as the inquirer is interested in listening to my responses. Know also that I am not alone in this, and that there are likely many around you even now who would be grateful for a willing listener. What time I spend writing is mine to do with as I wish, and however consistent or otherwise this publication is, I hope that you, in reading, appreciate the effort that goes into making it. Share it with someone, put your name on the list, take some time to think about my words. Truly, that last point is my greatest hope for my work — that, no matter the number of people who read from me, the richness of thought that results would be a deep well of wisdom, in any and all who take the time to consider these words of mine.
With love,
Joel