Journal

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Journal Entries

by Michelle Lacey

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2.27.24

What do you mean you don’t want small talk? Tell me about the weather. How does it make you feel? Did it make your hair curl? Tell me how dry your lips are and what your favorite chapstick is. The last time I remember the air feeling this way was kite day in Elementary school. It was always just warm enough, but the wind made it just cold enough to want a jacket. Go on and on about the weather, and I’ll get to know you. Nothing is ever small, you shrink it’s magnificence.

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2.13.24

When I was in elementary school I would try to prove my strength by wrestling the boys on the playground. I sectioned off an area of ground and defended my land and any boy who tried to cross over I would tackle. I gave one of the boys a bloody nose but he didnt tell the teacher on me because he knew I didn’t mean too. The boys would laugh and give me nicknames like T-Rex and it made me feel less weak. Because, If the boys think I’m strong, I must be. As a little girl I wanted to harness the brawniness I felt inside of me. My days of wrestling little boys at recess are long gone but the will to prove my strength still rages on. 

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1.18.24

Its in the uncomfortable bits. When you’re slipping on ice and your body seizes up but you don’t fall. and when you do fall, you get back up again, despite it all. It’s the moment before you jump off the diving board or when you haven’t talked to your dad in a little too long. It’s feeling braver every time you have to ask for a favor. It’s felt in the stinging of your hands when gripping the monkey bars at the park and its when you finally get up the courage to stand up for your morals. It’s when you unwrap the gauze around your heart to find out it wasnt irreparable after all. And when God looks down on you with his grace and forgivness, thats the most uncomfortable bit of all.  

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8.25.23

My beloved, you must understand my reticent ways as of late. This harbored huffishness comes from a heart of haste. Spiritual law declares I must wait. Timorous and petulant as I am, I have loved none but you. Your words are my creed. Still, I dwell on a pledge of my life to a man who has not asked for my hand. How long must I wait? I can barely stand to write this, unashamed.

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