This day a year ago I had a letter sitting in my mailbox waiting to tell me my plan for my entire future was one that would not come to fruition. It was a letter I had coming 6 years in the making, but it would tell me that I would not be going to PA school and starting my career in medicine after all.
A year ago, I still had my long hair, could go on long runs whenever I wanted, wore scrubs almost everyday to a job I was burned out in, was burdened by the prospect of my future, and living in a city I had been in for six years waiting for the moment I was to receive that letter, which would tell me if I would stay there for another two years.
Really what the letter did for me was not only tell me I would not be staying for another two years but it released an elephant-sized weight off of my shoulders. A weight I did not even realize I was carrying with me everywhere I went.
Sitting here now, Rosie just reached across the table to touch my arm and hesitantly ask, “Was a year ago today a hard day? Is today a hard day?” I just want to make sure I’m asking the right questions here.”
I really had to think about my answer, it seems like those strong emotions I felt were eons ago. Was it really that hard for me?
Yes, yes it was.
But, man, am I so thankful for that letter now. And so thankful for a friend who could read the situation and reach a hand across the table to love me. If the letter had gone the other way, I would have never met her and countless others this journey has brought me.
I had spent the whole of last Fall either questioning, crying, working, running, journaling, or adventuring around a city I had a feeling I was preparing to leave. I remember back to that one evening I sat in Starbucks and the World Race became a newly formed dream that could actually be made into my reality.
Now, this year, I sit in a coffee shop in South Africa and type out this letter to myself. The rain is hitting the tin roof held up by sticks and precariously placed pieces of wood above me, with some drops sneaking through, hitting my head or my laptop keyboard. Again, the Lord is using the rain to remind me of what He makes new.
I wrote in my journal this morning as a letter to myself a year ago:
“Today is the day that is going to change everything. You worked so hard and gave up so many nights slaving away studying or running around at work, but hold fast to what you know is true when you open that letter later tonight after work. I know you are going to spend a 12 hour shift on your feet strung out waiting to get home to open the small envelope Valerie texted you and said was waiting for you at the apartment.
Today you will have a grumpy old man yell at you because his food is wrong and you didn’t bring his juice fast enough at lunch and another will scrutinize your bathing skills (don’t take that too personally, I know you are excellent at this point in bathing people after a year and a half on the unit and numerous baths you would rather soon forget, but dang it, you got those people clean). More importantly, you have your future in an envelope on your kitchen counter at home ominously waiting for your hands to get to it.
Today is the day you have spent countless hours of stress over, and poured even more hours of prayer into. The fork in the road of your future is finally going to close one side and the path is going to become clearer than it has ever been. When you hold that letter, rejoice in the moment and revel in that small amount of joy before you begin to cry.
Remember the incredible people you met along the way that got you there by working or studying alongside you, pouring into you. Also, how you are exactly where Jesus wanted you this whole time, especially when you bawl your eyes out later tonight to your sister on the phone saying through gasps of air, “You have no future anymore, you have no idea what to even do now.”
Don’t be so dramatic. You will be fine, actually you will be more than just fine, you will thrive.
Pick yourself up and get ready for the plan Jesus had for you this whole time. Tomorrow you will apply for the World Race. The Lord will romance you with the sound of the Aegean Sea pulling back the rocks that make up the shoreline, you will hug and receive kisses from a refugee in a train station after your team bought him a ticket, you will return to South Africa and once again eat the delicious Yum Yum peanut butter U.S. customs took from you when you forgot to check it last time you were here, you will HUG AN ELEPHANT, and you will meet people that the Lord had destined to be a part of your life for the rest of it. These people will walk beside you in life and love you in your ugliness and celebrate you in your beauty.
Now a year later, your hair is short and you have pink hair tips once again. You’ve added three more subtle tattoos about learning about your belovedness and your command to be loved by your Father, you are a part of a run club of people who make you laugh every morning, your home changes location and country every month, you are more sure of who you are and for once in your life are ok with not knowing what is next. It is the most beautiful thing.
This year you will thrive, because you are exactly where you are supposed to be. And when it comes to your future, Jesus has got you covered, He hasn’t let you down yet.”
