As you know, I love a good pen and some paper, and so when the invitation to go on a Journalling Workshop arrived, I leapt at it! For once in a blue moon (there actually even was one!) I prepared to leave the house without spare hats, a first aid bag, nappies and wipes, water and snacks and all the usual luggage we travel with. The day you head out with your children without a spare set of clothes will probably be the day someone falls into a puddle; so travelling light is a thing of the past for me. My sister had decided she would be the driver for her and I and three of our friends and when she said to be ready for departure at 10.30am, man, I was all packed, putting on lip ice, filling up my water bottle and waving off requests for my involvement with a “I can’t answer that, ask Daddy!” and “I’m sure someone kind will make you your lunch just as you wish,” and “I won’t be here then so you’ll have to all decide amongst yourselves.” I threw my tiny overnight bag into the back of the car and waved as I imagined that little boy trilling his goodbye up the stairs in the ‘So long, farewell’ song in The Sound of Music. I was getting dramatic in my giddiness. Don’t get me wrong – I adore my husband, he really is the finest, and my children are nothing short of God’s lavish gift to me, but a night away with some girlfriends was most necessary.
The journey together was part of the weekend away and we settled into our excursion just as soon as we had driven out the gate. Two hours later, city traffic and bustle forgotten, we arrived at our destination. Our friend, who was hosting the event, lives in a small town where she, along with her husband, has created some kind of an otherworldly oasis for weary travellers. Her childhood friend had flown up from South Africa specially to run the workshop. What kind of a person flies to a foreign land in the midst of elections to run a workshop on words? One who believes that words create worlds, that’s who. Antoinette McDonald – I usually keep personal details vague, but I share her name because you will all ask anyway, and because she said it’s totally fine – arrived with her well of never-ending clean water to share freely with thirsty nomads. She came laden with tips, tools, quotes, resources, research and experience all thoughtfully put together in a way we could clearly understand and relate to. She poured herself out and her vulnerability unlocked a whole new world for us. We wrote up a storm and there are tidal waves brewing in the best way possible. Martin Luther once said, “If you want to change the world, pick up your pen and write,” and what better place to begin than with ourselves?
I have always journalled in one form or another, recognising the power, therapeutic benefits and creative outlet it affords before ever reading about it or being taught anything official. Journalling is an entirely free way to capture, remember, grow, release stress, dream and listen for the voice of the One our hearts long for. It’s an excuse to go slow and be quiet and let the pen speak all that has been silenced as we scurry through life. My efforts have been rustic, experimental and haphazard for the most part. Over the years it has become something more consistent, focused and intentional as I have read, learnt and grown. After this weekend, it’s like a match has been lit in a black cave and I can see vast mounds of treasure gleaming at me wherever my eyes rest. For how long have I lived unknowing of the riches available to me? How many times has Love spoken or a dream played itself out in my sleep and I have not received the gift; ignorant, absent minded, sleepy, unaware of the largeness of my spirit and soul to receive so much more than I think I am capable of? How many restrictions have sneakily squeezed my imagination into a little box when such things are limitless in their very nature; unable to be boxed?
We gathered around that table all afternoon like we had found ready-made shelter on a deserted island. Our names were stylishly written at our places, and a leather journal with a personalised note and writing prompt lay carefully wrapped for each of us. I had arrived with a wide open heart, in dire need of breakthrough, and to be welcomed with hugs and smiles and a table such as this was enough to cause the tears to fall before we had even begun. A centrepiece of herbs, flowers and plants from the garden invited us into a journey not dissimilar to what unfolds in a garden. Seeds, planting, watering, pruning, clearing, preparing, harvesting, endless attention and care make for flourishing gardens and it’s the same with our hearts. A lot of work goes into maturing with grace and style. Left unattended, our lives can be overrun with anger, bitterness, cynicism and hard-heartedness that settle in like weeds to hijack the fertile fields of a perfectly good life.
The local ladies all went home at the end of the day, but those of us who had travelled, settled in good and proper. We talked around the island in the kitchen as we prepared dinner, we talked outside whilst sipping sundowners, we basically talked the night away and as midnight approached we laughed ourselves into yawns and exhaustion. We slept in a quaint cottage beside a low brick walled vegetable garden. Warm spring breezes swept fallen Msasa leaves every which way and the silence hushed us to sleep. I am always amazed when I am more comfortable in a bed made up for guests than I am in my own. I had taken my pillows just to be sure of a good night, but I ended up leaving mine on the floor and using the one that was already on the bed. We came to learn, we came to write. Both happened and so much more than we bargained for. A comfortable, safe space is one of the biggest gifts we can give one another I think.
The following morning we continued. Deep, meaningful, reflective, insightful, inspiring, subduing, reviving, restorative. Time and space, pens in hand, journalling for our very lives. Hebrews 11 v2 says, “By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.” When God spoke, creation happened. It’s the same with us. Our thoughts, our words and our writings hold explosive potential. If you have never done it before, won’t you find a book and a pen and settle down somewhere quiet. Begin to write. Like Antoinette said, “Write till the dirty water flows clean.”
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