Many of my work days are spent trying to make MY messaging stick out from the pack.
Every word, image, and the vehicle that carries them are carefully constructed to increase SOMETHING or engage an audience. So it makes sense that I was upset when I found one of my journals was ruined. I opened it and everything was gone, including the lines on the pages. My scattered brain raced to think of what thoughts had been written that I'll never in 100 years remember.What bits of my heart were spilled on those pages that will never be seen again? I was getting really worked up when a still voice said,
"It's not your words that matter. It was the time you spent with Me. My Word lives forever"