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Dear Diary.....
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Written by Sheryl Scott

Hey…remember me? Yeah…I know…it's been what? 10 years? Since I wrote something in here. And even then, it was to document the birth of a child before I forgot all the details.

Remember when I used to write, faithfully, on your welcoming pages, every single night? Write about the woes of adolescent agonies? Fights with friends. Laughs with friends. Boys I was crushing on…but couldn't tell anyone else. Fears. Not just fears…deepest fears. Fears that couldn’t even be whispered…only written, only to be replaced by the fear that someone would read what I wrote and…know.

Diary, I picked you up the other day. Not sure why. I was cleaning out. Remembering. Curious. I found you in among a pile of other forgotten memories. A blue Hilroy notebook with my name written in carefully practiced curly script.

I smiled even before I opened your pages. My mind flashed back to all those nights I felt melancholy and dramatic. So, I started to read. So many entries of despair…how I felt ugly…fat…not good enough. How so-and-so hurt my feelings or ignored me. How the cutest boy ever to walk the face of the earth…looked at me and smiled…and my heart soared! Oh, the heart-crushing days of high-school!

This got me to thinking…what did I write after that? When I got older…married…had kids? So, I dug around and found other diaries. Other entries. Things I had written about after high school.

I was hoping to find wonderful descriptions of life with the most amazing man on the planet. Or gripping details of times spent basking in the wonder of motherhood. Or God's amazing provision for my life…how much closer to Him I had grown. After all, I was a Bible school graduate. Okay, so I found some of that…but not nearly enough.

You know what I found…more of the same stuff of highschool. More critisisms…of my husband…my kids…my bland role in life. Wishing I was someone else! Why couldn't my husband "get me?" Or why did my kids fight all the time? Or why, when I'm supposed to have the "Joy of the Lord" do I feel so damn miserable?

Most of the ink and paper was taken up with critique of myself…how even now…years after high school…I still felt fat and ugly.

I stopped smiling before I was a quarter of the way through and just felt…sad. Sad for wasting years. Sad that I had nothing good to say about myself. Sad for wishing I was someone else. Sad for not letting God breathe His love into me…for not listening to His whispers… "You are beautifully and wonderfully made…"

Sighing…I dug a little deeper into the paper pile. Here was something I had forgotten about. Something I hadn’t finished. But I had started. It was a journal…of thanks. The only thing that I was allowed to write in this journal, was what I was thankful for. Yes! I remember this! The pages were full of descriptive words, full of passion and wonder. All was not lost. I didn't spend the whole of those years groveling in self-pity. I did have some thankful pages in my life. It wasn’t full…but it was started.

So, diary…journal…whatever you wanna be called. I've decided to finish you. To fill your pages up with the changes in me. To let you in on the whispers I've been listening to; "You are uniquely made…" "I love you…" To let you hear how Jesus gives me laughter…peace…and JOY!

To write new entries. The first one will have the caption:

"To wish you were someone else…is to waste the person you are."