Dear Younger Me

"Dear Younger Me, where do I start?

If I could tell you everything that I have learned so far,

Then you could be one step ahead . . . " (MercyMe).

Dear Younger Me,

If I could go back and tell you what I know now, what would I tell you? How would I change the choices you made? If, by some divine power, I could go back and change the course of history for you, how would I do it? After all, I've learned a lot in the years I've lived between now and then.

I've learned that I can't carry the world on my shoulders. They are, though far wider than they were when you were seven, still far too narrow to carry that weight. I've learned that I can't change other people. I am not responsible for the choices they make. I can't take ownership of everyone else's feelings. All I have control of, and then only by the work of the Holy Spirit in me, is myself. I have learned that I am responsible for my own actions. I can allow God to change me, painful step by painful step. Pulling up those roots of sin and brokenness hurts like bully sometimes. And my feelings, in all their wondrous complicated mess are mine alone to deal with appropriately, before the throne of grace. Younger me, I could tell you these things so that you do not attempt to carry burdens not yours to carry on your skinny seven-year-old shoulders.

I've learned that perfectionism is a curse. Sometimes good enough is good enough. There is great freedom in giving one's best in the circumstances and then walking away. The world will not cease to rotate on its axis if the dishes remain unwashed and the bed remains unmade. You will not cease to wake up in the morning and the world will not hate you if you fail to achieve perfection. And if the world does hate you, achieving perfection is not going to change their minds. I could tell you these things, and make your life a whole lot less stressful.

I could teach you that tears are wholesome and healing, that feelings just are. They are not good or bad (although they can be good-feeling or bad-feeling), and you are not good when you feel good-feeling feelings, or bad when you feel bad-feeling feelings. You are simply human. There are good ways and bad ways to express those feelings, but you can feel them all. What is more, you can control them all. They do not have to control you. I could tell you all these things, and perhaps your life will be fuller, more nuanced, richer, more alive.

Or I could tell you about love. (Oh, not about THAT kind of love, younger me - I still don't know anything about that, sorry!) I could teach you that love is worth it, despite the incredible risks. Yes, your heart will be broken. It will be shattered into a million pieces, sometimes by betrayal, sometimes by death, sometimes simply by the stretch of time. But love is worth it. Because life is so much richer with love than when the heart is locked up into a cold, impenetrable prison, untouched by love.  I could teach you these things, and open your eyes to a world of friendship and kindness.

I could tell you that all those little things that make you, you are just fine. I could assure you that it's ok for you to read your stacks of books, to hide your open books in your desk, or under the table, or under the sheets with a flashlight. (Well, ok, maybe you shouldn't hide your open book in your desk, but I surely do understand.) I could tell you that your fascination with science and history and geography are perfectly wonderful, that your disdain of fashion and makeup and movie stars is fine,  that these things make you interesting, not weird. (Well, ok, they make you weird, but I could tell you that weirdness is something to celebrate, not to fear.)  I could tell you that your need to be alone is just as acceptable as others' needs to socialise are acceptable. I could tell you that you are just fine. I could tell you these things, and maybe remove the crush of condemnation and oddity from off your narrow shoulders.

Younger Me, I could tell you about Jesus. Oh, I could tell you about the One who loves you wildly, extravagantly, not just when you're good, but even when you're bad. I could tell you about how he created you in all your wondrous mad glory, and gave you gifts and talents and abilities he gave to no one else in quite that constitution. I could tell you about how wildly fond he is of you, how he not only loves you, but how he likes you. I could tell you about how he has hovered over you, always near (but not always obvious), always caring, always guiding. I could tell you of the tears he has wept for you, the laughter he has laughed, the joy that is his when he sees you. Younger Me, I could tell you how he is all you have ever longed for. I could tell you how he fills in all the gaps and holes and cracks left by life, and how he spills out through those gaps and holes in a glorious shine.  I could tell you these things, and maybe spare you years of crushing separation from his love.

Younger Me, there is so much I could tell you. There is so much I could change, if I knew then what I know now.

But I won't. I can't.

Because I have learned the things I know now precisely because you did not know those things then. There was no other way to learn them. Oh, I suppose others might be able to learn these things in other ways. But you're not they. And that's ok.

You learned these things one precious, painful step at a time, tutored lesson-upon-lesson by a faithful, faithful God who carries you. And to eliminate the lessons would be to eliminate the things I now know. And I wouldn't change what I know now for the world.

Because, ultimately, what I know now is not so much what I know, as Who. And Younger Me, He is worth it. So worth it.

So carry on. Gut it out, Younger Me. Make your mistakes. Feel your heartbreaks. Suffer your pain. God is there. He is teaching you himself, about himself.

And he is worth every heartache you are feeling, every tear you cry, every joy you feel, every dream you dream, every wish you wish.

He is worth it.