I met my 16 year old self at a cafe today.
She was three minutes late, I was ten.
We both ordered hot chocolates. She felt embarrassed that she didn’t drink tea or coffee. I told her to keep ordering it, and to stop being embarrassed. She cringed at the cost and said she’d rather spend the money on a lift pass, I told her I agreed.
I told her I was proud of her. I told her that all her dreams were going to come true.
I told her she’s going to marry Brad Galbraith, the cute guy from school she’s always had a thing for. I told her they’d be prom king and queen. I told her that Katie would marry Matt Twyman and she’d get to be Laura’s sister, for real.
I told her the photography thing works out, and she’s going to shoot weddings and get to fly in helicopters. I told her she’s going to travel all over the world. I told her how her heart would sing when she sees the Alps for the first time in Austria, and how many times she’d laugh until she’d cry when hanging out with the Vivian’s. I told her how deeply influential that week in Austria in 2017 would be.
I told her that lots of friendships will change, but the most important ones will remain throughout all the years and all the distance.
I told her she’s going to have a surprise baby, but that it’ll be okay and she will love him more than she ever thought a person could love someone. I told her the first time she’d ever feel him kick was on a train going through Austria. I told her that he is a delight and would help her heal and teach her things she didn’t get to learn when she was younger. I told her how much he would make her smile and how proud of him she’d be.
I told her she isn’t stupid, that there was something wrong in her brain all along. I told her it’s going to take a while to figure out, but that she would figure it out and begin to heal. I told her it would feel like the springtime after decades of winter. I told her how many people would be changed by her story and how it would lead to healing for those around her.
I told her she’s going to go to Tauernhof and it’ll be better than she ever could’ve imagined. I told her that she’ll never be the same again. I told her that she’ll leave Auckland one day and she’ll finally feel at home.
I smiled at how in love with Jesus she was, but felt a rush of emotion at how naive she was to the horrors of this world.
I couldn’t bear to tell her what she was about to go through. Or how much I wish I could protect her from it.
I didn’t tell her how it would feel when her heart shattered over and over and over again. How the church she loved would implode and that the pieces still haven’t been put back together twelve years later. I didn’t tell her how many funerals she’d attend. I didn’t tell her how she would feel like she couldn’t take another ounce of pain but that it would just keep coming and coming. I didn’t tell her she wouldn’t get to say goodbye to some of the people she loves. How for a season death would feel like it was winning. How many times she would feel the ground get swept out from under her feet.
I didn’t tell her what it would feel like to watch Mum and Dad’s hearts break as they lost friend after friend. Or how it stung to see so many people she loves get swallowed up by tragedy.
I didn’t tell her how long she’d have to wait; for Tauernhof, for a diagnosis, for another baby.
But I also didn’t tell her about how Yahweh would fill those cracks in her heart with gold. How he would sit with her in the heartache and hold her tight. I didn’t tell her about the intimacy with Jesus that comes with surrendering your pain to him. I didn’t tell her about the glistening visions he would give her of her baby girls heaven.
There is nothing I could’ve done to prepare her for what she was about to go through.
So I told her to love people as if everyday was their last. To tell those around her what they meant to her. To take photos of the things and people that made her smile. I told her she’d be okay, and that Mum and Dad loved her deeply and how much they’d sacrifice for her. I told her that Brad won’t leave her side. I told her to be nicer to Katie and to invest in her. I told her that she’d move away and she’d miss her so much.
I didn’t tell her that she’d meet this crazy girl from Christchurch whose parents met at Tauernhof and that she’d marry Neil from Eastview that we’d all become best friends and how that friendship would mean the world to her. That they’d live together, laugh together and cry together and pray together.
I didn’t tell her she would have treasured friendships all over the world and how Jessica Dawson would come to Tauernhof and continue the building of generational richness that comes from time there. Or how precious the flowers that grew from the ashes would be.
I didn’t tell her how cool it would be to watch Brad become a father, or Mum and Dad become grandparents. Or how she’d feel like a princess every time she thought about their wedding or looked at her dress. I didn’t tell her how she would soften, and grow and dance. I didn’t tell her how good it was going to feel to laugh again.
I told her not to sell that iPhone she won and to keep playing the piano.
I didn’t tell her that when she leaves Auckland she’s going to get to live in the mountains and be in awe of them every single day and her heart will overflow with gratitude and delight.
I left her to discover all that for herself. I told her that by the time she got to thirty she would feel the most content and the most herself she’d ever felt. That she could delight in getting older and growing up with Brad.
I told her to keep walking, even if it took every ounce of strength within her. I told her to soak up the good and cling to Jesus, as if her life depended on it, because it would.
