My mother has been gone for more than twenty years; yet, I miss her every day, even now. When the grief of her passing was new and I felt wounded and sore, I sought and found comfort in words: the words of friends, words in the Bible and other books. I found relief from pain in poetry, in quotes, and in Scripture that seemed to speak to me.
Like a warm quilt on a cold night, I pulled the words around me, wrapped myself in them, and found balm for my heart. I wanted to keep these words close and add to them. I wanted them at my fingertips, to read and re-read so I bought a small (but thick) journal. Just the act of copying meaningful prose and poetry was calming. On some of the pages, I drew illustrations, using colored pencils. There is something soothing about the slow process of creating a colorful picture. 
As the years passed, that little journal grew to include, not only comforting words but amusing quotes and poems. Maybe, some day, my children or grandchildren will pick up that journal when they need relief from whatever pain they are going through; or, maybe they will open it if they are curious about what might be inside. Perhaps they’ll begin journals of their own. I hope so. Sort of like the cool touch of a mother’s hand on a child’s fevered brow, there is comfort in the wonderful gift of words.
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