Benedictions

Diaries, journals, personal blogs. The furthest I’ve ever come to finishing one was during the previous summer, when I thought my life was worth documenting. I filled only half of the journal’s available pages, but I said what I wanted to say. At least I think so.

Instead of doing other work (you know, assignments with deadlines…), I read A Prayer Journal by Flannery O’Connor, and felt somewhat guilty while doing so (not because of those deadlines). The prayers inside are, to say the least, written at the height of emotion, fervent and desperate. Even her handwriting gives her away: a facsimile comprises the final twenty to thirty pages, misspelt words and all. After finishing the edited portion of O’Connor’s journal, I know she would never have wanted me to see such sloppy handiwork and raw feeling. From her entries, I gather that the only material she wanted the public to read was her short stores and novels. She wanted to appear powerful, in control, yet full of God’s Grace. She wanted to be merciful, wise, attuned to the Whole of her feelings. I only know this, however, after reading her journal, the result of obsessive searchings in pursuit of greater scholarly knowledge. I wonder if we – the researchers and readers – are in the wrong, for who has the power to decide how we view a person?