Dear sixteen-year-old Annie,
It’ll get better.
I know you’re sitting amidst the pieces of a broken heart, wondering if it’ll mend, wondering if it’s worth mending.
It is, and it’ll get better.
There is a world out there for you to pay attention to, and you will see it, slowly, as you make your way through it. From small steps to mountains and cobblestones, you will learn small steps to the feet of Jesus.
It will be harder and longer than you want, than you expect, than you know.
But it’ll get better.
You are sixteen now. Eight years ago you were eight, with the world in your palm and a passion overflowing. Now it feels as though both have been snatched from your grasp.
But I am eight years older than you, sixteen-year-old Annie, and I know that when we lay hands open to Jesus, He will give us back a hundredfold of what we had painfully and perhaps reluctantly lain down in sacrifice.
Here’s my heart, Lord, you will sing at twenty-four, speak what is true. It’s the prayer you wanted at sixteen but the one for which there were not words.
You will try to walk away from God in a minute. You’ll try, but you’ll realize the reason you hit the rock at the bottom is because there is a Rock at the bottom. And like Jacob, you will wrestle with God.
You will still be wrestling at twenty-four, but by this time you will be surer of the hope you cannot see, because you will have seen it take you further than you could have ever hoped to go. I mean this literally, across the globe, and spiritually, within your soul.
I can’t tell you, teenaged Annie, where you’ll be in eight years, once your sixteen doubles into thirty-two. But I can tell you if the next eight years are like the last eight years, you’re in for a second stretching, sweet sixteen.
Keep the faith, keep Him close, keep on. The view is beautiful from here.
Twenty four-year-old Annie