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2nd day of Iyyar, 9:00 pm
Despite my recent absence, I’ve decided to keep writing in you — even though I’ve got my voice back. That whole miracle thing (both the hearing, talking bit AND the birth of my son) was my last entry a few weeks ago, and I realize I haven’t written much since then. You know how it is with a newborn kid, especially when you’re my age. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d ever write in this journal again (hadn’t planned on it), but I’ve finally had some time to process the last nine months or so, and I have some things to say. I’m gonna’ stick with this writing thing, at least for a while.
I started the diary because I had so many feelings and, without a voice, no way in which to express them. It all began that day I was chosen to go into the temple and burn incense. After the whole supernatural angel experience (complete with discipline from God), everyone was wanting to know what had happened. I kept making signs to them — and finally got across that I’d seen some kind of vision — but they never really understood what actually happened in there. So I later wrote about it.
[You know, someone should invent a language that deaf and mute people can use to interact with one another and with others. They could use their hands, and every motion could represent a different word. Oh, and we could make signs for the letters of the alphabet, too. We could even have big performances in which groups do a sort of “sign language” choreography to the spectacular stylings of our synagogue music. Yeah, that would be awesome. Jewish kids everywhere could do it — it would be the newest and best proselytizing tool around. It might even replace drama teams. I’ve gotta’ remember to tell the youth minister about this.]
Okay, so back to what I was saying. I remember the first time I wrote down anything at all. It was a couple of days after the angel struck me, and I was exhausted from waving my hands in the air trying to explain how I felt (and from acting like a chicken laying an egg just to get a decent breakfast). The phone rang* that day while Elizabeth was at the market, and I grabbed a piece of papyrus and scribbled down a message for her about her cousin, Mary, who was finally engaged to long-time boyfriend, Joseph. Yeah, we’d all been waiting on Joe to step up and ask. We were beginning to wonder if he might have been put off by the bride-price Heli was asking for. 12 cows is a lot for a carpenter. Anyway, that was the first time I bothered writing something down. Later that day I used the same sheet of papyrus to give my account of the angel in the temple. I was hooked.
I could finally express my feelings again. And better yet, I could go back and edit my words to make sure my meaning was clear. In many ways, writing is a better way for me to communicate what I really want to say. It’s also helped our marriage a lot — it’s nearly impossible to snap back a rude answer using a feather and dye made from plants.
So that was the day I started this whole journal thing. I’ve even thought about posting some comments each morning out on our front gate. That way people could read what I was up to that day — and (if I left the quill and ink) even leave comments at the bottom of the page. I could complain about the world and pretend the things I have to say are really important. Or I could just leave it at telling people what I did that day in hopes that they care.
Oh, I know! **light bulb** If I talk about God, I could call it a ministry. I just wish there were some way to put really nice portraits of our family up for everyone to see. The grandparents are always wanting more pictures of little John. Anyway, I’m gonna’ get to work on that. Now what will I call it… a gate journal, a news diary, a bulletin log… — no, those names are all so long. I need something short and catchy. **perplexed**
Well, more on all this tomorrow. Good night, diary.
*Poor editing. And a big thanks to Zee for pointing this out. Zechariah could not have heard, or spoken on, a phone.