I Wish She Had Written To Me

Image by J. Paxon Reyes via Flickr

Writing has been hard lately. So I have been avoiding it. Especially while so many others were writing their 31 days series through the month of October. Their words worked their way into me and joined the flow of change. Like Christy's butterfly in the becoming, I am changing within. It has been frightening for me this past month with a few moments of excited anticipation. I have been met with so many disappointments lately that it is hard to continuing believing and trusting. My days seem to be filled with more questions than answers.

Something that has helped and not helped at the same time: boxes that have been stored at my grandmother's house since 2005 when I first went to Scotland. It seems like a lifetime ago. I knew I had changed since that time, though I had no idea how much until I opened those boxes. It is like being reacquainted with an old friend. I have mixed feelings about that old friend.

Being immersed in beloved memories has been healing and pleasant. But after the first blush, I am beginning to see what I seem to have lost since then. 

When I read my journals from years ago, I either cringe or respond cynically to how poorly I've written.  Recently, I've been able to get past my frequently remarked upon mixed metaphors and boy-crazy laments to what I was really saying. This was the greatest evidence of the change that has occurred within me in the last 5 years. The girl who wrote those journals, read those books, wore those clothes, would not recognize the woman I am today. I think she would be dismayed, discouraged and disappointed if she knew where she would be in half a decade.

I cannot help admiring that younger version of myself. After surviving an unknown illness with faith and patience, she dove into living and discovering her Father and the purpose she was given. She questioned and doubted, but she always remembered the Lord's promises, despite the way life made them seem like lies. She had a heart for others. In a serious discussion of the Body of Christ, your sisters in Christ will not call you the "heart" to be nice. They generally mean it. Journal entries written with passion and without concern for what they expressed because they were real. Words of praise and thanksgiving for a beautiful life alternated with days when the world seemed to be ending. The writer was not afraid to *feel* whether it was happiness or disappointment.

My journals contain many letters. Letters to God, letters to friends, even *blush* letters to boys I had crushes on. These letters contained words I longed to say out loud, but was too afraid. As I read them, my heart wishes that she had written a letter to me, her future self, the lost and wandering, hurt and afraid future version of herself. She seems to have something that I have lost.

But I must stop reading these old words, Best Friend's orders. They seem to be having more of a negative effect on me.