A number of years ago I became intrigued by Vincent Van Gogh. Maybe it was a reference in Len Sweet’s Soul Salsa to a painting of the Church at Auvers. Could have been coming across some of Vincent’s letters to his brother Theo. May be it was reading biographical material referencing Van Gogh’s study for the ministry and his work among the poor. What ever it was I have a great interest in Van Gogh.

Reading I came across a reference to a small sketchbook used by Van Gogh – a moleskine. Many keep notes on their computers or PDA’s. I tend to have better recall if I write something down. I picked up some of these little notebooks. I am on my third small, ruled version. I found another size in a Barnes and Noble and picked a few up. It is thinner but larger and has a thicker paper cover. I took this one on my recent trip to Philly.

The thin brown version soon became my favorite. Notes from meetings, personal reflections, notes from bereavement visits and thoughts from my recent Soularize trip fill the pages. Today I began looking for my notebook on the way home. I scavenged the two bags I was carrying. No moleskine. Frantic I looked again. Standing waiting for my plane from Dallas to OKC I called the hotel hopeful it had turned up in the morning rounds of housekeeping. No notebook. I have called again and may hear tomorrow. I called the car rental company and may hear from them. In the meantime, I am preparing myself for the word to come back – “We’re sorry, no notebook.”

Strange what we become attached to. Our thoughts recorded are hard to give away and the thought of losing them is painful. Sure it sounds weird to mourn a book of your own words. Alas, it is true. I am mourning my moleskine.