Life moves fast. The trail gets steep. The weather shifts. Fatigue sets in. And if I don’t pause to take stock, I get dangerously close to losing my footing.
That’s where journaling comes in. It helps me slow down.
It’s like setting up camp after a long hike; the moment when you take off the weight, breathe deep, and reflect on how far you’ve come. The terrain might still be rugged, but now you’re still enough to see it clearly.
Some entries are prayers. Others are messy rants or unresolved questions. But over time, those pages start to look like something more than just reflections. They become trail markers, each one a blaze carved into the trees of my story. Together, they form a map of grace, grief, healing, and transformation.
Blazing the Trail
To trailblaze is to step into the unknown and leave a path behind; not just for yourself, but for others. It’s what early hikers did when they marked trees or built cairns to guide the next person forward. It’s what I do when I write honestly about where I’ve been, how I’ve struggled, and how God has met me in the middle of it all.
My journal doesn’t just help me survive the journey, it helps me remember the way.
And not just the way I took, but the God who walked it with me.
Memory Stones
In the book of Joshua, after the Israelites crossed the Jordan River on dry ground, God commanded them to take twelve stones—one from each tribe—and set them up as a memorial (Joshua 4:1-9). These stones weren’t just reminders of the crossing; they were markers of God’s faithfulness in making a way when there seemed to be none.
God told them, “In the future, when your children ask, ‘What do these stones mean to you?’ tell them how the waters were cut off before the ark of the covenant” (Joshua 4:6-7). Each stone told a story; of a miracle, a moment of grace, a step forward in faith.
That’s how I see my journal. Each entry is like a stone, a story carved into the pages that marks a step along my journey. Some stones hold stories of struggle, others of healing, and many of unexpected grace. Together, these stones form a trail not just for me, but for anyone who might follow, helping them see that even when the path seems impossible, God has already made a way.
Why I Write
There’s one entry I keep coming back to. I was wrestling with a series of conflicts, unsure of how to respond. I remember journaling about what it means to absorb pain without retaliating; to be grounded, but not reactive. That quiet reflection eventually became a blog post called The Power of Balance: Learning to Take the Hit.
But the clarity didn’t strike like lightning. The insight didn’t strike like lightning. It unfolded slowly, step by step, as I put pen to paper. As I wrote, I realized something I couldn’t have seen in the moment: God had been shaping me, even when I felt stuck.
Honest Pages, Holy Ground
Sometimes I bring Scripture into the processa verse that hits like a walking stick I can lean on. Other times, I let the ink flow freely. Either way, the journal isn’t a stage. It’s not where I perform. It’s where I show up as I am. Honest. Unpolished. Human.
It’s where I see patterns, struggles, name progress, and encounter God’s faithfulness again and again.
The more I write, the more I notice the trail He’s laid before me.
Peter Scazzero once wrote,
“Christianity isn’t about our disciplined pursuit of God, but about God’s relentless pursuit of us.”
That’s the heart of it.
Yes, journaling helps me take stock and make sense of the hike, but it also reminds me: I’m not blazing this trail alone. God is chasing me down. He’s preparing every step. Not with pressure or perfectionism, but with presence and love. He’s the Guide who walks with me. And in the act of writing, I see more clearly the many times He’s already cleared the way ahead
From Reflection to Legacy
Journaling isn’t just about processing. It’s about leaving a trail—a record of where you’ve been and what you’ve learned, so that when others come behind you, they can follow the path too.
Just like ancient memory stones or the cairns hikers build today, our written words stack up to create markers of grace, struggle, and faith. These personal cairns point the way through fog and uncertainty, silently guiding ourselves and others who may one day walk a similar trail.
Returning to our journals helps us see not only our own strength but also God’s faithfulness to us. When the trail gets hard and the way forward feels uncertain, sometimes we need to borrow faith. Sometimes I have to borrow from my own faith by going back to read what I once believed, what I once hoped for, so I can remember that growth often happens in the dark, before the light breaks through.
So if you’re in a season where the trail feels hidden, where the fog has rolled in and you’re not sure where to place your next step—don’t rush ahead.
Stop.
Take off your pack. Open the journal. Let the ink tell the story.
And know this: the paper trail you’re leaving behind might be the very map someone else needs to find their way.
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