ALLISON TIPTOED PAST HER MOM’S bedroom, listening for the soft snoring that proved she was asleep. Yes. There it was. Now she felt free to write in the journal. This was not a moment to be interrupted, and if her mom spotted her writing in the journal, there would be a flurry of questions and suggestions.
She went to her den, found her favorite pen, lit a sandalwood candle, then curled up on her overstuffed chair and lifted the journal from the stand next to the chair and onto her lap. A deep sigh. Open the journal. Turn to the second page and begin.
May 20th
First, I have to say it feels incredibly strange to be writing in a journal that’s mine but isn’t mine. How honest should I be in these pages? I suppose that’s the point. If I’m not willing to be honest here, then I shouldn’t be writing anything down.
If God is truly in this, then I need to be fully in it as well. So I will be. And I also know, or feel—how can I know for sure?—that if I do this, if I go all in, life will change. And in this moment I have a choice. To stay safe. Or to jump.
Allison paused and peered at the rain pattering on her window. Did she really want to jump? She put pen back to paper a few seconds later.
I’m stalling. What do I want to say?
That I’m adrift. That a sadness has surrounded me.
That leaving Kayla and going to work with Derrek—no, right now it’s for Derrek—has been like going from the frying pan into an active volcano. He’s not the man I thought he was. I need to get the partnership finalized. For Mom. And if I’m honest, just as much for me.
When Derrek called and asked me to partner, it made me feel so good and wanted and valuable. And now, with Linda lording her power over me and Derrek putting me off, I don’t know where I stand.
And I’m alone. Never expected my marriage to end. Does anyone? So alone. I wasn’t made this way, yet here I am.
I have no power. I’m not in control. I have few choices. I’m scared. What do I do?
I’ve never been strong. Not as strong as I want to be. As strong as I need to be. Help me, Lord. I want to believe in myself, believe I can do this.
God, if this really is you, I want to know it for certain. I want to know you’ll show me. Please?
Enough for the first entry. She gently closed the journal, wrapped the thin leather strap around it, and tucked it in under itself. The candle flame flickered as if to approve of her writing, and a warmth settled into her mind.
Allison turned the book over in her hands, then again, then peered at the tree on the thick leather cover. In that moment the journal did feel like hers. Completely.
The next morning Allison rose early, went for a two-mile run, then went to her den and picked up the journal to read what she’d written the night before. But three quarters of the way through she stopped cold. The words had changed. And some had vanished altogether.