The Trace of GracePosted: January 30, 2012
The black and white type on my screen entices me and I start reading those emails sent and received years ago. I’m swallowed by the memories, and as I read it’s like I’m my young teenage self again.
I cringe at the early emails, the “drama” and the shallowness of it all. I was so young. I want to reach out to that 13 year old, to tell her life creates enough drama of its own, to stop creating her own. I want to tell her life is more important then she realises.
Time moves on and I’m shocked by the bitterness and anger in my emails. I want to shake my 15 year old self and tell her to be generous with forgiveness, to tell her to take responsibility for her mistakes, to tell her not to turn sadness and hurt into anger.
More time passes and the tears roll down my cheeks as I re-live broken hearts, as I remember the stupid mistakes I made, as I see myself turning away from all I know to be good and holy. I want to visit my 17 year old self and wipe away her tears, and tell her to stop before it gets worse.
I want to take hold of my 18 year old self and restrain her, make her stop and really realise what she’s doing, make her turn around and set her feet on the right path again.
As I keep reading the rolling tears turn into floods. I weep from deep within. I’m desperate to grab my 19/20 year old self, to hold her tight, to speak to the scared, broken, hurting child inside her, to tell her there’s healing, to tell her life won’t always be so bitter, to tell her good and wonderful things will come.
But I can’t… I can’t go back…
That teenager has gone now, those years have been lived, and nothing can change what as been. I speak to myself of the grace, faithfulness, provision, and love that God has shown me. I pray I have learnt lessons that will stay with me, and I pray I can pass them on to others.