Dear Carrie,
First of all, if you don’t wake up to “22” by Taylor Swift on your 22nd birthday, I am disappointed in me.
Second of all, I’m proud of you, me. Even in the little things, like writing an open letter to yourself in the second person even though it’s super cheesy. But I’m more proud of how brave you are. You are about to spend a whole year without your best friends, your parents, and Chik-fil-a. You’re doing it even though half the time you’re unsure you’ve made the right choice, and you feel like you are the Debbie Downer of your own decision because everyone else is so enthusiastic about you leaving (that’s cool, guys). I know what you’re doing, because I’m you, and you need to stop overthinking every angle of every decision you’ve made in the last year.
Remember how fast the money came in when you were fundraising? How you ran around the Wesley screaming and hugging people after you got accepted because it felt so right? Remember how chill your squad is, and how much you loved everyone after only 10 days? That’s God saying yes, Suzy Stormcloud. Over the next 11 months, things are going to get hard. They’ll get uncomfortable. But I know you’ve got a feeling in your chest that’s saying the words the Lord has spoken over you over and over again throughout your life: For such a time as this. So I know you’re going to go, even though you’re scared, and that’s what bravery IS, me.
You saw Mad Max: Fury Road right before you left for training camp. If you ever feel helpless this year- and I think you will, because you like to think you can save the whole world on the strength of your convictions- then remember why you named your pack Max. Because you are Furiosa. You want to make the places you are going better, and you don’t know how to do it yet, but you’re starting the only way you know how. Remember that you have to ask for help. Pray hard. Watch how your hosts do church and drink in everything about the countries you’re in. And when you hit the end of your rope: rage in the face of the world’s brokenness, on your knees. Then get back up and kick some ass.
Right now, you are saying goodbye to people we love. Two days ago, you said goodbye to Caitlin and you talked about how you had gotten here, with college degrees and no clue what the next step was. It was your first and last time seeing each other this summer. You drove to Waco and back, with a thunderstorm behind you and the sunset visible west of the highway, behind the corn fields and mesquite trees. I hope you remember how it felt to have nothing figured out and still be content, on the edge of storms but in sight of so much beauty.
Right now, you can only see how much you are leaving behind. But there is so much ahead of you, so much ministry and so much joy.
I hope you have lots of dance parties, and try wine in every country, and learn how to curse in at least five languages.
I hope you see Jesus in places you never expected him, and that the Holy Spirit moves in you like she never has before.
Most of all, remember who you were, right now, in this moment. You liked yourself. Don’t stop liking yourself this year. Let God make you more of who you are.
Love,
Carrie
