An Unexpected Birthday Gift

On the eve of my 25th birthday, I received an unexpected letter. Perhaps it was somewhat "expected," just long-forgotten. The irony struck my sister and I, as we talked on the phone about how quickly the years have flown by. "Sometimes high school seems not long ago, but then I remember how much things have changed," she said. Just then, I spotted the letter from my former English teacher and was a little confused to see familiar handwriting appearing through the thin envelope, like the vague glimpse of an apparition.

I opened the letter with trembling fingers, excitedly telling my sister what I'd just received--a message from the past. This is what it said: 

June 6, 2006

By the time you read this, a lot of things will probably have changed. You may be married. You'll be done college and you'll probably be more "mature." I use the word loosely because its definition has changed so much. I mean you'll have experienced things and taken on responsibilities so different from the ones I have now. But I don't want you to loose your sense of wonder at the little things: the beauty of nature, the merriment of holidays, and the simplicity of childlikeness.

I know it's not possible to not change. "If there was no change, there'd be no butterflies." And I want you to be a butterfly. Yet, even a butterfly has ties to its "immature" self. The spots it carries on its skin as a wiggly caterpillar become the ornament and decoration of its wings. So let the change be for the better. Don't let your new responsibilities and lifestyle keep you from taking time for the simple things I enjoy now, like sleeping with my window open to hear the summer crickets, stargazing, writing in my journal on the back porch in my pajamas during the early morning, singing when no one else is around, dancing though no one sees. I hope it's still a part of who you are now.

Above all, I hope you can look back on the time between then and now and see the fingerprints of God. May you have a clear understanding of God's will for your life. And may He grant you peace to overcome the fear of growing up.

 Moving forward,

 [Myself at 18 years old...signed with my maiden name]

Six years ago, I penned this letter to myself as part of an English assignment. It was the end of senior year of high school, and I remember my classmates (and myself) questioning whether our teacher would truly send them to our future selves. He made good on that promise and at the most opportune time.

I spent that much of yesterday (12.12.12) lamenting how I didn't have time to reflect before my birthday, an exercise I began the first year I realized birthdays no longer held the same excitement of childhood (the presents, cakes, getting special treatment on your very own special day, etc.). Then this, a letter written in my pre-English major ignorance--full of misspellings, double negatives, and other such grammatical horrors (which I've kindly left untouched here, for your untainted reading)...this letter arrives and offers more reflection and encouragement than I could have hoped to conjure up in my adult-paced life.

I chuckled at the foresight as well. I am married. College is already starting to feel like a distant memory. And I've certainly had plenty of experiences and taken on new responsibilities, many of which I'm still grappling to understand and carry out well. I'd say I'm more "mature" in the sense my 18-year-old self described--matured by time and experience, but with so much more to see, do, and become. I don't think I've lost my sense of wonder, thankfully, and I attribute some of that to this beautiful new place I've found myself living in as well as the beautiful new life I've discovered with my soul mate. There is much to wonder at in God's world and in a life that seeks after Him.

"If there was no change, there'd be no butterflies." That was my favorite quote in high school. I had it posted in my locker, held up by a butterfly magnet with feathered wings. I clung to this quote because I've never dealt with change well--it always seemed to manage to dig its icy tendrils of dread and sense of loss into my emotions. It still does, on occasion, but I've learned to fear it less, because I know that, in spite of the pain and the things I know I'll miss, I will survive the change though I carry the marks of it forever. One of my favorite songs we sing in worship says "Constant through the trials and the change, One thing remains...Your Love never fails. It never gives up. It never runs out on me." I think that's what the past-me was hinting at, though I've grown to believe it even more deeply now: God's Love never fails, gives up, or runs out on me, no matter what trials and changes come my way. No matter if I cross miles and miles to start a new life, far from the home I've known. No matter if health problems creep in to steal my bodily comfort. No matter what bumpy roads of marriage super-husband and I have to travel. His Love is there.

It was there with me in high school too, as I sat at my desk, penning thoughts I hoped would reach me on the other side of the unknown--that frightening stretch between "childhood" and "adulthood" that seems to occur during the college and early marriage years. Despite my encouraging words and bolstering confidence, that was a troubled time for me. I'd seen the death of a young friend and learned that life isn't a guarantee. I'd witnessed and shared the pain of family members as they battled depression and harrowing circumstances. I wasn't a child then either, I suppose. But God's love has surely carried me through that changing time and He still does!

I have seen the fingerprints of God in my life. Real tears of gratitude fall at that marvelous realization. I think if I knew then how my life would turn out in six years, I would have felt a mix of fear and awe. (A right response, don't you think?) What an INCREDIBLE birthday present! No matter how daunting (and rather epic) "a quarter of a century old" may sound, I prayerfully expect to see the fingerprints of God on the next 25 years also. This is my letter to the future.