Fun fact: I hate a lot of new-agey stuff.
I roll my eyes so hard when I see a lot of the example affirmations on Pinterest – “Money just flows to me”, for example. Um, really?
I mean, it’s one of those “whatever floats your boat” type things for me, but I’m a little too stubborn and too much of a concrete fact-driven thinker. It’s the same reason Hypnobirthing was a personal no-go (don’t tell me it doesn’t hurt! just tell me how to deal with the pain!)
So you’ve been art journaling for a few weeks, and suddenly you’ve hit a wall. You’re in a rut. You’re having a hard time thinking of new ideas for your pages.
Let me just tell you: I’ve been there too. You can tell, too, because there will be weeks after weeks of bubble letters and random color washes. It happens; don’t give up! Especially after art journaling for a while, it can be hard to think of new ideas.
When I was growing up, I really didn’t understand who God was supposed to be. In my mind, He was a far-off cosmic phenomenon that I could wish upon, like a shooting star. At times, He seemed alternately indifferent to and the cause of my struggles.
As I grew up and ran into trouble, I tried a lot of different methods to try to find happiness. None of them worked. At my wit’s end, I figured if there was a God, he was my last chance. So, for the first time, I prayed. I talked to God like I might talk to a friend.
And guess what? He heard me. He answered. I found what I’d spent so much time looking for.
Since then, my faith has supported me through so many trials: from the day-to-day stresses of living, to worries about when we’d have a baby, to worries about how we’d support a baby, through the police academy, and everything since.
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If you’re reading this page, I’m going to assume you accepted my invitation to give art journaling a shot. I promise, you’re going to love it.
Wondering why you should start an art journal? Here’s why. In that post, I mentioned all the reasons I love art journaling.
I’m really not good at having a consistent schedule each day. I’m more of a “fly by the seat of my pants” kind of girl. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I plan all sorts of stuff I’d like to do but I don’t have a solid list of events for each day. In that vein, I’m always promising myself that I’ll start doing x every day.
“I’m going to exercise 20 minutes every day.”
“I’m going to clean for 30 minutes every day.”
“I’ll scoop the litter box every single day.”
(I know, that last one really does to be done every single day. It just gets away from me sometimes… most of the time. Oops.)
Needless to say, many of these resolutions last a few days then fizzle out. There’s one thing though, that almost without fail, I do every single day.
I remember I was about 8 months pregnant when it first hit me that I was really, actually about to be responsible for another human being.
I mean, I’m not stupid. I knew I was pregnant, I knew the result was a baby. Duh.
But as I sat in his soon-to-be nursery and looked around, I rubbed my belly and cried. I already felt inadequate and woefully unprepared for the task of raising a child. I remember talking to him for the first time, telling him how badly I wanted to be a good mother for him and how I’d do whatever I could.
“I hope I don’t disappoint you,” I remember telling him through tears.
As it turns out, I was a lot more prepared than I thought I was. It hasn’t always been easy, but from the moment I met him I knew I loved him enough to do what I had to do.