This was a writing prompt with a group I’ve become a part of, Indelible Ink Writers. The prompt was “Buried Beneath the Piles” and other writers had amazing things to say along with this.
I found my inspiration in some jars that have been collecting dust on my bookshelf unopened, unexplored for over a year and a half, but were probably untouched for another year and a half before they got moved to their current home.
I distinctly remember writing notes on papers and folding them up while I was going through life right before my lung collapsed in March of 2017. It was a rough time of life. I was nineteen. I’m chronically ill. My mom had surgery that left me with more responsibilities than normal. My boyfriend at the time broke up with me because of my health.
It was a lot, and I wrote. As time went on, I forgot what I wrote about, but thought for sure if I ever read them again, they would be dark, depressive, or uncomfortable memories. Yet for some reason, I’ve been feeling an urge to open and read them since the end of January, as I wrote at the end of this post but it took me until now to actually sit down and do it.
Imagine my surprise when instead of embarrassing angsty teenager writing, I found Bible verses and quotes from devotions I must have been doing at the time.
“Nothing of the heartache I kept expecting to find.”
I don’t know why I felt like the words were something else, but I am happy I opened them and found life pouring out of them. Sometimes I wonder if I remember things worse than they were, because I thought I was a hot mess in those days, but my journal entries I’ve been reading for another project state otherwise. Unless I was being fake to my journal, which could be possible, but I feel like it has simply been a trick of my memory.
God has been there for me and has been my source of comfort no matter what has come my way. I am thankful for Him, and for the urge that must have been from Him to realize there is life where I thought there was despair.