Dilemma

I love to journal. I never go anywhere without my journal. I love the freedom of being able to jot something down whenever I feel like it.

I only have one page left in my journal.

This was unexpected. I was writing and writing last week. I turned the page and *gasp* realized there were no more behind it!

I've not had time to catch up on pasting in pictures and ticket stubs, and now there's no room. It seems ridiculous to start a new journal with "Oh yeah, these didn't fit in the last one..." Secondly, I've not been able to select a new one. This is a big deal. If I'm going to invest months of my life into this thing, I'd better like it.

Today on my way home from lunch with Papa, I thought about stopping to buy a new journal. I knew it'd take me longer than I had time for, so instead I went home and studied music history like a good student. (Applause appreciated.)

All this to say, I've been hesitant to write. I'm not ready to finish the last page. The many pages of this journal tell of my life over the last 10 1/2 months. In an odd sort of way, I'm attached to it. Beginning a new journal always seems like embarking on a new journey. Sometimes I'd rather just be comfortable; I'd rather flip through familiar pages that tell past stories through pictures and words - stories I already know, rather than ones I have to first live.

I already know what my first entry will be in my new journal. I've included these beautiful lyrics for you, too - words that have been on my heart lately.

Now to finish that last page...

I am in exile, a sojourner

A citizen of some other place

All I've seen is just a glimmer

In a shadowy mirror but I know

One day we'll see face to face

I am a nomad, a wanderer

I have nowhere to lay my head down

There's no point in putting roots

Too deep when I'm moving on

Not settling for this unsettling town

My heart is filled with songs of forever

A city that endures, where all is made new

And no, I don't belong here

I'll never call this place my home

I'm just passing through

I am a pilgrim, a voyager

I won't rest until my lips touch the shore

Of the land that I've been longing

For as long as I've lived

Where there'll be no pain or tears anymore

My heart is filled with songs of forever

A city that endures, where all is made new

And no, I don't belong here

I'll never call this place my home

I'm just passing through

-Thrice, "In Exile"