Only one lamp lit the whole house. I sat beside it with boxes scattered all around. I wanted to wind down after the long day's unpacking.
I had found the journal in a far corner of the small, musty attic while putting my winter items in storage. Climbing down the ladder with it tucked beneath my arm, I considered whether it was wrong to read it.
The previous owner, a widow, had died about a year earlier. I supposed if it were hers, she wouldn't mind my reading it. So, there, nestled on my couch, I opened the old, brown journal.
The first page held a masculine handwriting in which these words were written:
Record only what you want to remember.
The widow's name had been Anne, but I was still compelled to read on. I hoped and imagined that Martha wouldn't mind.
I gently turned the crisp, yellowed page.
The next was dated Feb. 18, 1911 and had a few brown spots dotting it.
As I read entry after entry, laughter excaped my lips and even a lump crept to my throat at one point. I saw what it was like for Martha and her family and neighbors to live at that time.
Although in many ways I was reading about a different world, I also felt the commonality between our lives in experiencing joys and pains.
Suddenly I didn't feel so alone.
Hours passed before I finally closed the book. I sat for a moment reflecting on all I'd just read. Then I moved across the room and stepped onto the porch to look at the stars.
Returning inside, I locked the door and trudged to bed with a yawn. Before closing my eyes, I pulled out my own journal and wrote the date at the top.
Feb. 19, 2011
I've often wondered how much--or even if--the way I live my life today would matter in a hundred years. In some seemingly small way, I think it will.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be right now. CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.