Dear Netta

As a fourth grader, I loved to read journals. My school library had a shelf of journals written from the perspective of illustrious figures like Cleopatra and Mary, Queen of Scots, as well as that of a voyager on the Titanic and a pioneer traveling out west. Apparently I did not yet understand the meaning of fiction, because I thought I was reading the real journals of young girls living in some of the most exciting times and circumstances of history. I remember my keen sense of betrayal when my older brother informed me that a girl who lived through the sinking of the Titanic did not, in fact, write my book. But through this early period of ignorance, I forged a stronger appreciation of and connection with journal keeping than my church leaders were able to foster over years of encouragement and journal decorating activities. In one journal, a pioneer girl wrote about her beloved sister’s death in their difficult crossing of the plains; from then on she began all her entries with “Dear Netta” as a way of continuing to talk to her sister. I was taken by this interpretation of journal keeping—of a letter to a much-loved family member rather than a dry summary of the day. I cannot say that I am entirely diligent in following the instruction to keep a journal. But when I have important spiritual or learning experiences, I write as if to my future children, my future grandchildren. I write so that they will know of my testimony. I write so they can experience at least a small degree of the fascination I felt as a fourth grader, looking into the past with different eyes.