Honest Journaler: Paper, Paint, and The Psalms

Honest Journaler (noun)

/ˈänəst ˈjər-nə-lər/

A person who journals their unfiltered thoughts to find a filter before interacting with the public.

Example:

“I’m not a poet or a performer — I’m more of an honest journaler. You know, the kind who writes it all out just to make sense of life.”

Usage note:
Often found scribbling late at night instead of scrolling (it’s a new habit I am starting).
See also: overthinker with a pen, recovering scroller, emotionally literate creative.

✍ Release Through Writing

As a creative, visual art is probably my most recognized form of expression — besides being a former dancer (it depends on when we met 😄). But I genuinely love all forms of creativity: dance, writing, music, and theater. I’m not much of a performer, but if I’m not painting, I have found myself journaling or jotting down notes— especially before bed. I’m trying to break the habit of scrolling until I fall asleep.

Back in college at Greenville Tech and beyond, when moments felt overwhelming, I’d open a blank Google Doc, type “God…” and just start writing. No rhyme, no reason, very little sense — one period, zero commas, and a whole lot of honesty. If it bubbled up, I typed it out.

Writing runs deep in my family (IYKYK). One summer, my siblings and I wrote short stories and shared them in a grand competition! In the pristine location, where all the greats begin, our living room couch. We must’ve been super bored — or maybe we were told not to turn the TV back on! Both my brother and sister write poetry (and they’re really good at it!) Me? I’m more of what I call an honest journaler. Did I just make up a genre? Yep, yep I did. Did you read the definition? I write so I don’t say anything too candid in public. My physical journals sit on the same shelf as my grandmother’s Strong’s Concordance, Brené Brown books, nonprofit books, Jackie Hill Perry and children's books — a mix of heart work and head work. Which leads me to a painting I did a month or so ago.

🖌 Creating Lament

The piece Lament was something I painted in about an hour — not for any particular reason, just because I wanted to. The eyes stare off, and tears trace the cheeks.

I’ve often avoided painting “lament” because, honestly, the world already has enough sadness. There’s always something heavy — whether it’s your own burden, someone else’s, or something you scroll past online.

But one day, while teaching a class on the emotional power of color, we talked about how to show sadness — and for the first time, it felt good to create something moody, solemn, even a little sad. Sometimes I crave that kind of honesty, even in sound. I like moody music from time to time — not dark, just heavier than the lightness of Forrest Frank’s Lemonade. Deep tones. Raspy voices. Cadences that sound like pleas to God — where you feel the soul more than the beat.

Learning from David

You know who else was an honest journaler? David.

I’ve been studying the book of Psalms off and on this year — and I’ve got a long way to go. I’ve been trying to understand David; he’s such an interesting guy. Reading 1 & 2 Samuel alongside the Psalms adds more humanity and context to his words, making them feel real.

I often wonder what kind of rhythm the Psalms were sung to. Did they really sing them out loud? Was there a choir flipping through some ancient hymnal like, “Where’s the hook, maestro?” If I had to imagine David, I would picture someone about 6 ft something, strong in stature, with dark brown eyes that could shift from joyful to distant coals mid-conversation — a man both cordial and guarded, who might only rest when a kind hand reminded him he could.

Honest Lament and Hope

When David wrote his Psalms, I know he didn’t have us in mind — yet his raw lament and resilient hope still can meet us where we are.

He cried out, but he also commanded his soul to turn toward God.

“Morning, noon, and night I cry out in my distress, and the Lord hears my voice.”
— Psalm 55:17

The Passion Translation says it this way:

“Every evening I will explain my need to Him. Every morning I will move my soul toward Him. Every waking hour I will worship only Him, and He will hear and respond to my cry.”

Even in chaos, David’s response was consistent — honest and proactive. In modern terms, he was saying, “This hurts like heck, but I choose to turn my heart toward You — not because everything’s okay, but because I know You hear and will respond.”

👀 The God Who Sees:

One of my favorite verses is Psalm 56:8:

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in Your bottle and recorded each one in Your book.”

The Passion Translation adds, “…for they are recorded in Your book of remembrance.”

That means every tear — from infancy to now — has been seen by a holy God who doesn’t just sit high and look low, but actually gets in the muck with us.

And maybe that’s where you are right now — in the mundane, the muck, or the middle of a season you don’t understand.

I may not know your situation (shoot, I may not even know you), but I do know the God who does. I know he can trusted even with our candid and raw thoughts. Just dont cuss- at him! He can handle it!

If His thoughts toward us are as countless as grains of sand, surely this holy God can handle our lament.

“He understands humanity, for as a man, our magnificent King-Priest was tempted in every way just as we are, and conquered sin.
So now we draw near freely and boldly to where grace is enthroned, to receive mercy’s kiss and discover the grace we urgently need to strengthen us in our time of weakness.”
— Hebrews 4:15–16 TPT

He is a compassionate King who sympathizes with our frailty.

And I can’t help but think of Hagar.

Oddly enough, I love the story of Hagar. It might seem unusual to pair her with lament and David — she’s often overlooked when we talk about the great women of the Bible. But her story is powerful.

In Genesis 16, after Sarah treated her harshly, Hagar fled into the wilderness — and it’s there she met the Angel of the Lord. She was the first person in Scripture to give God a new name: El Roi, “The One Who Sees Me.”

In her distress — much of it not caused by her own choices — God saw her, called her by name, and met her where she was.

I often wonder: if Sarah and Abraham had acknowledged the pain they caused, reconciled, and honored Hagar as both a mother and a human being, how might her story — and Ishmael’s — have been different?

Her lament moved God so deeply that HE himself showed up in the middle of her wilderness. Yeesha!
(Jackie Hill Perry teaches beautifully on Hagar — which only deepened my love for her story.)

It’s powerful to realize that God cares for us far more than we can imagine — that He doesn’t want us separated from Him, even in our pain.

“If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there;
if you’re kicked in the gut, He’ll help you catch your breath.”
— Psalm 34:18 MSG

My prayer is that you choose a relationship with God over religion, untouchable perfection practices— that He meets you right where you are, because He deeply cares about every detail of your life, even when you don’t realize He’s there. The God who sees, knew you in the secret place of your mother’s womb — and He still sees you now. He is waiting for you to bring him those issues that feel heavy….

THEN SIT QUIET AND LISTEN FOR HIS WHISPER …