the book in my lap

Once I talked with a girl about the book in her lap. We were seat mates on a long bus ride across Iowa, and so the conversation about cornfields eventually had to end. The curly haired girl said that the fancy book was her journal, and asked me if I kept one. Yes, I replied, I kept one. But just one. It had exactly three written entries, with plenty of breathing room (about 15 blank pages) between each date:

January 1979. My name is Jed Nelson Platt. I was born on January 15, 1971. Today I was baptized. The water was very cold.
April 1990. I entered the MTC today. Soon I will be heading to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Did I spell Albuquerque right?
March 1992. In a few weeks I will be returning home from serving a full time mission to the "four corners" of the earth. Where did the time go?

I hate keeping journals.

During my freshman year in college I wrote a term paper outlining all of my reasons for not keeping a written account of my life. I even received an "A" on it. I reviewed my long list of justifications with my traveling companion Angie, since we were now on a first name basis, things like: it takes too long to compose something worthwhile; who would want to read about me anyway...I don't even want to know a lot of things about me; if there are angels above silent notes taking, couldn't I just get a copy of their books when I get to the other side? I continued on, and on, into Nebraska, exhausting every excuse. All the while, Angie listened politely. When I felt as though I had built a pretty solid case, she then replied, "Now may I tell you why I do keep a journal? First of all, it's a commandment." And that was it. I was stopped. Stymied. Stuck...in the middle of nowhere.

Since that call to repentance, I started collecting a series of cool journals from different journeys–leather bound with handmade papers, sketchbooks from famous museums–each one holding the promise of being the one that would inspire me to write. But, unfortunately, no book ever took. While my library was full, my record remained empty. So when my house burned down, although it was terrible, a small part of me felt somewhat vindicated. "See, it didn't matter anyway," I told myself. Everything, literally everything, was gone.

Donella, another friend of mine has been a faithful journal keeper. Once when her backpack containing a special journal was stolen from her car she responded thoughtfully, "Well, I believe in the resurrection. Anything that has been created will one day be made whole again. Including journals." Once again, my protests and arguments did not stand.

Recently I received very strong words of counsel to start keeping a journal. One witness came in the form of a priesthood blessing, the second witness from an Apostle in General Conference. So, since this blog cannot burn or be stolen, I guess this has officially become the "book in my lap."

Reviewing the brief posts in my original journal, I suppose what was started is just about what the pattern should be for keeping earthly records: a history of who you are, the covenants you have made and an accounting of your life's mission. As the enlightened Ebenezer Scrooge said, "I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach."