The Journal

The Journal

By Abigail Grace


About me.

Lacey Harton rolled the end of her pen over her lip thoughtfully as she stared down at the words she had just written on the first page of her journal. She had received it in the mail from her aunt as a birthday present for her sixteenth birthday, which been two weeks before. She wasn’t one for keeping a journal, but since it was from her aunt she thought she’d give it a try.

Lacey sighed, wishing she could be more creative. -Well, good enough, I suppose. With that, Lacey lowered her pen so that it again met paper. She began to write.

I’m just your average human being. I’ve got two hands, two feet, ten fingers and toes, proper legs, a head complete with eyes, ears, a nose, mouth, teeth, hair, and yes, even a brain. Only, I don’t talk. Well, not with audible words, anyhow. I use my hands and speak American Sign Language. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not deaf. I just don’t talk.

Some people say this makes me a freak, not normal, which is true if you choose to define “normal” by the way the majority of everyone else out there does things. My mom doesn’t define things that way. She says that they’re “typical” and that normal is how God created every human to live and act. She says that if you look at it that way, very few people in the world are truly “normal.” Those who are are considered weird by the “typical” bunch. Funny how things work that way.

Not that it matters. People still think I’m a freak. You might think that bothers me, but it doesn’t. It never has. If it did, I wouldn’t still be the way I am. Don’t think I’m always lonely, either. My family, or what’s left of it, has always supported me and loved me no matter what. Mom says that’s how God created families to be. I guess that makes us normal, even if the “typicals” think otherwise. But hey, who can blame them? I’ve never known a weird person to exactly rave over what’s considered “normal.”

Lacey lifted her pen for a second to think. She didn’t know exactly who she was talking to, but her thoughts just seemed to flow that way, as if she was in conversation with some invisible stranger who knew nothing of her past but needed to know everything. She hadn’t yet realized that it was a desire to express herself that pulled her fingers along the page as she wrote; she just knew that she had to do it. She felt something deep inside tug at her and propel her on. She pulled the journal closer and again her words began to flow.

You might be wondering if I have any friends at all. Of course I do! My best friend is my mom. She doesn’t understand me all the time, and sometimes that can be frustrating, though I think it is more so for her than for me. Austin is a good friend of mine, too. He’s 18 months older than me and very handsome. Don’t tell him I said that, though. Most brothers get embarrassed by compliments from their sisters and mom. *grin*

What, you still think I don’t have any real friends? Well, if you can only define a friend as someone your exact same age and gender and who is unrelated to you, I say you’re the one who doesn’t know what a real friend is. How long do you really think that type will last? Through high school? College, if you’re lucky?

The good thing about having a close friendship with your family is that they’re stuck with you. *big smile*

True family will never abandon you or stop loving you and being your friend now matter what. God designed family to be stronger than that.

I’m not saying that everything is always smooth and peachy for us. Fact is, it’s far from it. Things can blow up around here just like anywhere else. Since when have God’s creations been perfect? It’s been a while, that’s for sure. But Mom would still say that imperfection is typical, not normal. She says that while God doesn’t expect us to be perfect and always do the bright thing, He does expect us to forgive each other once we’ve seen or error.

Practicing that is what keeps our family functional, what keeps are relationships strong and healthy. For me, it’s never close to easy, but I know that I’m growing. Not in my own strength, but by God’s grace.

Remember I said that true family would never abandon you? Well, you might think that’s impossible if someone you love has ever died. I know how you feel. What I meant was that no one in a true family would ever, within God’s will, make the deliberate, conscious choice to abandon his or her family. Sometimes it happens, but that’s because we’ve got a sin nature and often choose to abandon God’s authority in our lives. Know that if you have been abandoned, it wasn’t because that person stopped loving you but that he or she stopped loving God first. At least you have some consolation. Pray for that person.

The question I’ve asked myself a thousand times everyday isn’t why someone abandoned me, though. It’s why God would deliberately choose to take away from me the one person I loved most, the one person I needed more than anything else. My dad.

Why did he have to die? That I’ll never understand.

It was a car accident six years ago when I was just ten. It was at an intersection two miles from our house. Dad had a blinking yellow light. The other guy had red, the drunk guy who didn’t see the light. My dad didn’t see him coming. The guy’s lights hadn’t been on. Dad couldn’t stop in time. The drunk driver was in a pickup. We were in a small Saturn. I was with him . . . I still have nightmares and wake up crying . . .

Lacey’s hand trembled as she pulled her pen away for the final time. A tear fell from her eye and trickled down her cheek. She could not begin to describe the emotion that stabbed at her insides and tightened her throat every time that scene again flashed before her mind’s eye. It was a memory she had fought long and hard to forget, yet it continued to haunt her until it seemed she could bear it no longer.