Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

—Philippians 3:13–14

Sunday, December 24, 1989

Dear Diary,

Today is Christmas Eve, and it is about 2:31 a.m. I’m so excited! I got a Nintendo Power Pad and Glove! Isn’t that unbelievable?! That was all I wanted. I also got a bracelet with my name on it, chocolate, slippers, a shirt, Kissing Koolers, a blue butterfly necklace, a guardian angel pin, a sleeping bag, you, diary, a card, and boots.

Amanda C. Dye

***

That early-morning diary entry—scrawled in my eleven-year-old cursive—would be the first of many I’d make in the coming decades.

Outside of my Bible journaling, which I wrote about in a previous blog post, I’ve never successfully kept a daily diary. However, for almost forty years, I’ve written on and off in journals.

Most of the pages are full of details about my girlhood crushes, as well as lots of teenage angst and young adult heartache. Others relay mundane life events and capture random musings.

God puts in an appearance pretty early, but as someone who was neither raised in the church nor Christian, it’s quite clear that I had little understanding of our Holy Lord and His character.

When I was working on my MFA thesis, I read through the journals as a way to remember much of what I’d forgotten about the first twenty-five years of my life—things I’d mentally discarded either willfully or unconsciously. I haven’t read them since.

The other night, I pulled one of the notebooks off my bookshelf and flipped to a random page. A faint smile curved my lips, and I shook my head as I read a melodramatic entry about one of my failed relationships.

Yet as I kept reading, I was filled with alarm and disgust.

I slammed the notebook shut and slid it back on the shelf, as confusion flooded me.

Who was the evil person who had not only had such sinful thoughts and feelings but also had written them down?

My embarrassment, shame, and sorrow left me sick to my stomach.

For many years, I’d excused the actions contained in those journals. I thought, Well, I wasn’t saved—I didn’t know any better. But I did know better. Even if I didn’t know the Lord and His law the way I know it now, Scripture tells us that His law is written on the heart (Romans 2:15). Sin may obscure it, yet it’s still there. And I know those notebooks are likely full of my feeble attempts to justify and rationalize my sins.

After having children, I decided I’d give them my journals at some point. What better way for them to witness the powerful transformation God has wrought in my life? Sometimes, seeing is believing, and I felt that allowing them to contrast the broken, lost soul in those notebooks with the joyful, redeemed child of God they’ve always known could help them better appreciate that with God, all things are possible (Matthew 29:16).

Though I’d once envisioned my journals as a testimony, I now envisioned them burning in a fire, never again seeing the light of day.

This whole ordeal reminds me of something I’ve dealt with a lot in writing about my life, as well as the many times I’ve worked with other people to document their experiences: the tension between honoring your story and honoring the Lord.

How can we be honest about our past without wallowing in the sins—whether ours or others’—or revealing too many details? How can we avoid giving the impression that we condone or even glorify our past mistakes and sins?

These aren’t easy questions to answer, and every person must prayerfully decide how they’ll navigate that situation.

When I perused my journal the other night, it was undeniably hard for me to see my own sin and ugliness reflected back at me, in my own handwriting. But my revulsion revealed something significant: I am no longer that person.

That the Lord has brought me to a place where I can see that sin more clearly than ever before is a testament to all of the redemptive work He has accomplished on my mind, body, and spirit. As the Apostle Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 5:17: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.”

I don’t know what I’ll do with my stack of journals. Maybe I’ll keep some and discard others. Perhaps I’ll type up or photograph entries or snippets I’d like to keep or share. Or maybe I’ll fulfill that vision of setting fire to the entire pile.

Regardless of what I decide, I know I can find a way to honor my past without giving it the final word—to preserve the testimony without preserving every raw detail. I can ask the Holy Spirit to help me determine what will be a blessing, not a burden, to my children. And most importantly, I can seek discernment as to what portions will honor and glorify the Lord.

This approach and mindset will allow me to handle my journals in a way that fulfills what Jesus called the greatest commandments: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’” (Matthew 23:37–39).

The things I wrote in my journals were obviously important to me at the time, and some of those events remain important to me—for instance, when my now-husband told me he loved me, or the first time I went to church with him while we were dating, or the entry I wrote the night before I gave birth to my first child.

Those are the kinds of memories I cherish and want to retain, not just because they warm my heart and bring me joy but because they’re part of the bigger, more central story of my life: the story of a lost soul redeemed by the blood of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

My journals may tell the truth about the person I was, but my life tells the truth of who I am today, in Him.

With love in Christ,

Amanda

xoxo

Scripture taken from the New King James Version^®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.