In my bedroom there is a large, beige box under my desk. It is covered in dust and rarely opened; it houses my heart.
In honor of the new decade, I lifted the lid for the first time in a very long while. Inside there are over 10 years worth of journals - the first one gifted to me by my dad when I was entering middle school.
In the front cover he wrote a letter to me, the only piece of writing that I have from him.
“I am giving you this journal so that you can use it as a place to talk with God. Hannah, I love you so much. Please know that I will be here for you always, no matter what you face. You will always be my little girl, my blessing from God.”
My dad gave me a place to talk with God. A way to express my heart, my hurt, my hallelujahs.
For the first 3 years of written prayers, I signed my name at the bottom of each entry - as if God needed me to say who the prayer was from. My signatures varying from “Hannah” to “Hannah M Sorvik” to “Sorvik” to “Hannah Sorvik”, each one swirly and twirly and in colored gel pen. I wrote about my teachers and boys and youth group and friends and music lessons and how much I hated gym class. In high school, I dropped the signature and started journaling my prayers more regularly.
Then in 2009, on the cusp of a new decade, my brother was paralyzed in a skiing accident and the prayers in my journals took a sharp turn.
They became wrestling matches with God. They became expressions of hurt and of longing, of faith and of fear, of hope and of sorrow.
Writing is what kept the wheels on my wagon, it was how I communicated with God when it felt like he was so far away. It was where I declared the truth of his love when my emotions said otherwise.
From that journal in 2009 through my most recent journal in 2019, so very much has changed - I graduated high school, college, graduate school. I dated boys and married the right boy. I moved five times and held way more than five jobs. I became a mom, I lost a child. I served as a caregiver, spent too much time in the hospital, lost my dad, said goodbye to my husband’s mom.
In the pages of those journals I read about a little girl who so often felt lost, unsure, afraid and inadequate. There were some entries where all I wrote was, “Lord help me get out of bed”. There were tear stained pages and things I remember scribbling by the side of a gravestone.
I read the story of the last 10 years and I felt the pain of those losses anew. And yet…
And yet…
There was prayer after prayer after prayer that was answered.
In the midst of so much trauma and mess I saw the hints of a design; of HIS design.
“On earth, the underside of the tapestry was tangled and unclear; but in heaven, we will stand amazed to see the topside of the tapestry and how God beautifully embroidered each circumstance into a pattern for our good and His glory.”
Some of the questions I wrestled with in the last 10 years have been answered - some are still a mystery. But through each page, each prayer, each journal, each year I see God’s faithful presence in my life - holding me together, shaping my perspective, guiding my steps forward.
Not a single day have I walked alone. Not one. single. day.
In that first journal my dad gave me a place to talk with God - and everyday since I have.
There were no moments too small for God to care, no fears too big for him to handle, no doubt he couldn’t meet, no sorrow he couldn’t comfort.
When I was a child I was told that I talked so much it made people’s ears hemorrhage. Heck, I’m exhausted of myself when I read those middle school entries!
But God’s ears don’t tire of listening to your life. He doesn’t tire of you.
When everything changes, when circumstances shift like sand, there is one thing that will never will.
“For I the Lord do not change; therefore you, O children of Jacob, are not consumed.”
Perhaps the next decade will be full of loss. Perhaps it will hold miracles and delight. More likely it will hold all of it.
As you stand on the brink of a new set of unknowns - both hallelujahs and heartbreaks - may the God who does not change, who does not grow weary of you, guide your steps forward. May you rest in the knowledge that he is weaving something beautiful out of your life, something beautiful out of you.
You are dearly loved. You are always heard. You are worthy. You are never alone.
“And remember, I am with you each and every day until the end of the age.”
Love,
- Hannah
- Hannah M Fordice
- Hannah Fordice
- Fordice