“Do you think they’ll read these?” my son-in-law asked as he helped me insert the plastic-protected pages between the covers of the two navy blue albums late Christmas Eve 2007.

“I know they will.” I smiled, more to myself than at him. I knew in the deepest abyss of my heart that I was giving my daughters a treasured gift.

The timing was perfect as both girls looked forward to life-changing joys: Bethany’s pregnancy for her second child, Jill’s after-Christmas wedding. They faced the future, but my gift transported them to the past.

On May 9, 1981, only days before my 24th birthday and a few months before my first pregnancy, I wrote on the first page of my first blank book. I’ve filled up enough blank books since then to fill a small plastic tote. Books I allowed no one to read.

Until that Christmas.

I typed selected entries from each journal using a cursive font, scanned and inserted photos, and printed the entire document, twice, onto pale mauve paper. Thanks to my intermittent journal-keeping, I gave my girls the gift of knowing me when I was a young wife and new mother. I shared childhood anecdotes about them and their younger brother. I entrusted them with joys and with sorrows. And, yes, Bethany and Jill read their copies just as I knew they would.

Laughing. Crying.

Because of a Christmas gift begun before I knew them. If you keep a journal, consider sharing the gift of your younger self with your loved ones. Or begin keeping a journal now.

Your today-words are a future treasure.

Merry Christmas!

{Note: This post, slightly edited, originally appeared on my former blog on December 23, 2009. }