Whenever I’m on Instagram, I feel like there’s someone who is posting about their “Bible journaling.” I see lots of florals in the margins, song lyrics written in sharpie over entire pages of Scripture, and artwork rendering the text beneath illegible. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not against Bible journaling. But there’s a certain type of Bible journaling that does not approach Scripture with the kind of honor and respect that it deserves.
The moment my phone vibrated with the text alert, it was as if the suspension was blown out of my world. Months of praying, hoping, wishing, and waiting were suddenly brought to a halt at once. The news was in, and it was good.
I sat at my desk as tears welled up in my eyes. I cried too, Mr. M’s text said. God is so gracious.
After the initial shock, surprise, and emotion I immediately wanted to tell everyone within a fifteen foot radius of myself. Since that included my phone I would have liked to send a mass text trumpeting the information, but we decided to stay quiet till more details come to light. So I just sat, thinking back on the last seven months.
Brought to the end of my timeframe and expectations, I had no choice but to look up. And once I looked up to the Lord, He encouraged me to look in… to evaluate if I was the kind of girl who even deserved to have a boyfriend.
I grew up in the northern Midwest United States, about two hours south of Canada. Because I was northern, raised in a Christian home, and believe “all men are created equal”, I firmly believed racial prejudice did not exist in my life or even in my geographical area. I associated racism with the South and the sixties. This view – unconscious though it was – went unchecked because my hometown is almost entirely white.