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It seems that I have an ongoing affinity in regards to writing journals.

I cannot get enough of them.

Indeed, it would be a rare day when you did not see one with me at work, or on my coffee table at home.

I can only guess this writing romance began when I saw the joy and comfort that journaling gave my Grandfather.

No doubt, it gave him a sense of purpose.

Every day… twice a day, usually the same time we would see our Grandfather, a retired Baptist Minister and Missionary approach his large wooden desk. He would even dress for the occasion too.

It was understood by the children, grandchildren and great grandchildren of the family that he was not to be disturbed. For at least the length of an hour he would sit by his desk content in his writing studies on the word of God.

And if you were to observe Opa studying at his desk you would get a definite sense that it was well with his soul as it was with the souls of his entire family.

How could I not want to aspire to this?

His journals now take up numerous bookcases throughout my house. Indeed, they are very precious to me.

My daughter encourages me in my journaling and I am very grateful to her for this.

Every few weeks she indulges me by treating her Mother to a shiny brand new journal filled with empty bright white pages.

She has an uncanny ability to sense when I find myself in a writing slump.

She knows all too well how much a brand-new journal inspires and motivates me.

How lucky am I?

When I have left this earth, my daughters will be free to burn my journals with my blessings.

That is if I don’t burn them first of course, to spare them the work of sorting out the many dozens of journals that account for the past three decades of my life.

It is my hope that by then, the journals would have served their purpose. Both they and I can be content in the knowledge that they have served me well…

…By being the vessel of my thoughts right up until the time that you read them.

Thank you for reading them…