My Brown Leather Journal

On my desk, on top of my blue book of mormon, lies a small journal. Wrapped in a covering of brown leather it displays a scene of the country and people of Nicaragua and gives a feel of being carefully and personally made.   For me the pattern and image of the cover evoke a sense of remembrance and deep feelings that border on sacred experience- despite never having set foot in central america.

Perhaps the apparent disconnection between the journal and it's owner doesn't end with the outside woven fold.  Like its leather cover, the words and images of the journal itself are in a way foreign to me.  These words are not my own, yet tell my story.  This story I know so well is told through many authors, none of whom are writers. Instead in the journal men and women from many places and backgrounds leave their deep imprint.  A western samoan far from home, a small-town utah boy and an avid club goer are just a few, and even so the stories behind them seem to grow till each becomes more than a person and instead a sort of ministering spirit; pleading for me not to forget my experience in Los Angeles and reaching out to rekindle my faith when I most seem to need it.  They're still with me and follow my journey still today.

For me my brown leather journal transcends the bounds of an ordinary memory book.  It truly immortalizes my experience serving the Lord and those I love in a way that my own thoughts and words are inadequate to express.  In this way people writing a few simple words have made an impact on my persona and identity.  Their words, their lives, the things they are and represent are etched not only on the pages, but on my own heart as well.