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Dear So and so,

Dear so and so.  I have so many things I’d like to say to you, but don’t know how to say them.  I don’t want to say the wrong words and upset you.  Yet, I don’t know what the right words are to say.  I guess for one thing, I can tell you…..

Backspace, backspace, backspace…..delete.

****Refresh****

Hey! How’s it going? I just want to let you know that I have something heavy on my heart that I want to share with you.  Remember that time……

Sigh, crumble….toss

Life is hard and I make stupid mistakes.  I speak before I should.  I jump before looking to see if it’s wise to.  I think I have it all figured out and then suddenly realize that I don’t know anything.  Anyway, what I need to say to you is that I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds or make everything a mess.  I hope you forgive me and see that I’m a just a dumb human.

Hover…..hover…..send

Words are hard to deliver, especially if you don’t know if the recipient is willing to accept them.  How many times do you write a novel to someone and know those are the words that you should not send them?  Sometimes you’ll hear the voice to delete the whole rant and then other times you hit send and then kick yourself for being such a butt.

But sometimes you feel a great need to send someone a message, not to be nasty or nosey, but out of urgency.  Even those can be misunderstood.  I just pray that when that happens, that they will see I’m not against them.  If things are quiet on the other end, I may not really realize what’s going on. I have no control over anyone else; I can’t make them listen to me.  Obedience is hard and sometimes you don’t understand why the Holy Spirit prompts you to say something, especially when things result differently than you expected.  God I did what you asked…..help them to receive what you want them to hear.

 

 

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Posted by on June 11, 2018 in Writing

 

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December Day

You send shivers up my spine,

While blanketing the ground

with soft cotton kisses.

Some love you,

while others loathe

seeing you dance silently from the sky.

Yet, your initial covering

is so pure,

a frozen backdrop.

Time stands still for a moment.

Is it because of the chill in the air

or the beauty you leave behind?

 
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Posted by on December 12, 2017 in Poetry

 

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Dear Diary,

I haven’t had this urgency to spill out my thoughts in written form in quite some time.  Pediarylockrhaps it’s because I read that it’s National Dear Diary Day.  I remember my first diary.  My grandmother gave it to me when I was eight or nine years old.  I don’t recall if it was for any particular reason, but I do remember her telling me that I may like to keep a diary, just to have a place to write down whatever was happening in my life.  My first diary was orange and it had a lock and tiny key to keep others from being able to read what I wrote inside it.  I didn’t write in it every day, but I did write in it occasionally.  It was usually when I had some kind of confession to make, like whatever boy I secretly held hands with or was crushing on.  I used various writing utensils to scribble these confessions, including crayon.  After my orange diary was exhausted from the bad scribbling and elementary aged confessions, my grandmother bought me another diary.  This one was bright blue with a girl holding a bouquet of flowers, embossed on the cover.  This diary helped me talk about those things that were bothering me.  My parents had just divorced; I started a new school, and I was having all those preteen emotions that accompany that age.

My teen years, I moved to journaling in spiral notebooks.  The outside covers of the notebooks were decorated with my personal threats for anyone who dared to nose into them.  These entries were sometimes written in code for only me to understand, in case my Mom or sisters ignored the warnings. The words that filled those notebooks included all the things most teenagers deal with…..rebellion, sibling rivalry, hormones, boys and lots of talk about parents being out of touch.

In college, I continued to journal in notebooks.  Those pages were filled with me looking toward the future.  Would I find the right career for myself?  Would I ever find a guy that would truly love me?  I talked about hopes and dreams.  I sought spiritual direction but at the same time questioned God.

I continued journaling off and on throughout my adult life.  I reflected on pregnancy, motherhood, failures, aggravations, finances, God, and all the things life throws at you.  I joined the digital revolution a few years back and started blogging on this page.  Just like my diaries and journals, after a while the entries become sporadic.  Life starts getting too busy or you just neglect taking the time to just sit and pour out the words that are running through your mind.

Journaling for me is a source of communication or prayer to God.  It’s always been easier for me to say what I think with a pen than with my mouth.  Prayer doesn’t have to look like you think it does.  Prayer is simply talking to God.  I think we make prayer more complicated than it needs to be.  When I journal, I’m able to be completely raw with my emotions.  When I’m angry, the words slam against the pages and fall over and under the lines.  When I’m sad, the words dance around slowly trying to find the right beat.  When I’m happy, the words float and bounce from side to side.  When I’m scared, the words sway and scratch trying to find the connection to the paper.

God knows my handwriting.  He’s received piles of letters from me.  He is my greatest love and understands me more than anyone.  He gave me the desire to write, if only for Him.

 
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Posted by on September 22, 2017 in Writing

 

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A Journal for Travel Musings

The ability to post my thoughts online for whoever happens to stumble upon my blog is fascinating. But, I have a deep obsession with paper. Sometimes, I just have to see my thoughts mark a tangible medium. One of my favorite sections of a bookstore is the stationery section. I have a vacation coming up, which will be unique to our family. We normally go to one spot and stay for a week, but this year we are going on a road trip. We will be visiting several different states and seeing whatever we happen upon. I made up my mind about a week ago to buy a journal just for me to scribble down my voyage. Yesterday, I went to a Barnes & Noble store and explored the journals. I loved many of the different styles, the Italian leather ones with beautifully embossed designs, the journals with a magnetic clasp, spiral journals with an inspirational cover, and handmade journals made with recycled silk. The latter is the one I chose. It has a rough multicolored cover made with recycled silk. I guess my daily dealings with thread in my work, draws me to that type of material. The paper inside is deckle paper. It is a textured paper made from the Lokta plant in the Himalayas. I am now on a journey to find the perfect pen for this journal. I’m in dire need of this vacation and really hope to fill the pages with what I discover along the way.

loktapaper

 
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Posted by on June 15, 2015 in Writing

 

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Writer’s Block

The cursor blinks at me
I want to write
But my mind is as blank as this page.
Do you ever have those moments where you just want a masterpiece to unfold?
By the tap tapping of the keyboard?
Yeah, it’s not happening tonight.
Just random words splatting on a page,
Filling up the void in front of me.
My mind is frozen like the tundra outside my window.
Winter…..stillness, frozen in time.

I’m hoping as I tap upon this keyboard
Those thoughts will thaw out and a moment of inspiration will awaken me.
Pause……
Think….
Sigh.
It’s just not one of those nights.

 
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Posted by on February 24, 2015 in Writing

 

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Words from my Fingertips

Time for Five Minute Friday

Go……

Write

It’s funny how today’s five minute Friday is the exact word I was hoping for.  The thought must be in the atmosphere, bouncing between like minds, pondering the reasons we peck on the computer.  I write because it is an outlet for me to say what is on my mind.  I write to throw thoughts, daydreams, opinions, and my heart on a visible surface so that I can go back and see what I’ve come from.  I write because it gives me a voice that I’m afraid of using when I’m around others.  I write because for some strange reason it brings me peace.  I write because I am in love with words.  I write because I want words returned to me.  I write because I want to be completely honest with my emotions.  I write to be sincere.  There is power in words, in writing. 

 

I began writing in a journal when I was ten years old.  My grandmother bought a diary for me.  I scribbled in it and admitted who I had a crush on or why I was frustrated with my parents.  My grandmother kept a notebook by her bedside, she scribbled in it as well.  Her handwriting looked like chicken scratch. 

 

Stop

But beauty came from the words she scratched down.  Her heart was poured upon that notebook.  She would often speak of what she did for the day, such as shopping, visiting people, and church.  But, she would also talk about her concerns with her children and grandchildren.  I think her journal was visible letters to God, it was like David’s psalms in the Bible.  My grandmother didn’t have much of an education, she made up for it through the huge heart she had for her family and others.  I miss my grandmother, but I thank God for all that she taught me.  She taught me to love, she taught me power in words, she instilled the love of writing in me. 

 

 

<a href=”http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/&#8221; title=”Five Minute Friday”><img src=”http://lisajobaker.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/5minutefriday.jpg&#8221; alt=”Five Minute Friday” title=”Five Minute Friday” style=”border:none;” /></a>

 

 
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Posted by on October 4, 2013 in Writing

 

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