To whom it may concern

The following is a letter I wrote to myself on my fortieth birthday.

Dear, Stephanie.

Congratulations, my friend! And let me just go ahead and say I know those aren't words you expected to hear from yourself. I know you weren't expecting to be happy about this day, but it is here and you are alive. So congratulations! And I know you haven't always considered us friends, but we are. It's you and me, kid. From here on out. I'm your best friend. Get used to it.

You've learned a lot these past forty years. And while it is information that will serve you well in the rest of your years, it is the past. You've made a lot of mistakes and some poor choices, but we aren't going to talk about that. Water under the bridge, my friend. Let it go.

 A teacher asked you repeatedly yesterday, "What do you want?" That's a very good question. And I think this is a great place to start when you stand at the threshold of a new decade. It is time to get specific. And for all of your talk about living with intention, it is time to start walking that out. Let's make this a year of specifics.

I love you. I think you need to hear that more. Say it more. And say it without conditions. You are beautiful. Say that, too. Your worth is in more than what other people think of you. Be yourself. Quiet. Listen. Hear that?  Remember? That's the beat only you can hear. Walk to that one. You'll have more fun.

You are courageous. That is one of the best things about you. You stand up for people. But sometimes you forget to stand up for yourself. Let's start doing that. You speak Truth, Life, and Love into other people all the time. But you withhold those words from yourself. Speak up. That is the root of your own integrity.

Dance and sing more. Read poetry aloud because you know words dance, too. Don't be ashamed of your mind. Or your heart. Laugh more often because it is true what people say, you have the best laugh. You are a healer. People tell you this. Believe it and start speaking healing over yourself daily. Hourly. Minute-by-minute when necessary.

Remember that poem you love? You know, the one by Mary Oliver. Here's your favorite part, the very end: Tell me, what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

My friend, ask yourself this today and everyday from now on. The words from the end of a poem hold the key to your new beginning.

Love,
Me
 

"Who am I that You are mindful of me?"

"Then the LORD will create over all of Mount Zion and over those who assemble there a cloud of smoke by day and a glow of flaming fire by night; over everything the glory will be a canopy. It will be a shelter and shade from the heat of the day, and a refuge and hiding place from the storm and rain." Isaiah 4:5-6

Almost every run in my short history of running has started on this street in the picture. It is my safe place. My warm up lasts the length of this street and whether I am anticipating a great run or a difficult one, whether I start out carefree or budened, it is my favorite place to begin. In the heat, the canopy of old oak and pecan trees offers me dappled light and respite from the sun. In the rain, it is a giant, old umbrella of sorts, only letting through a fraction of the storm raining down on me.

And isn't that what it is like to sit under the protection of a Savior? I think I finally understood this idea for the first time last week. As I started down Avenue J, I voiced in my head my thankfulness for the shade. And out of nowhere, I was suddenly struck by this scripture from Isaiah that I couldn't even completely remember.  I was completely humbled to truly understand for the first time what it means to sit in the shelter of God. I have always thought of God as holding me in the midst of storms. I could wrap my head around that thought. I could accept that I would have to bear everything that rained down on me, but at least I could do it if I was being held. It had never occured to me that what I actually experience is just a fraction of the storm. I am protected because I sit under the canopy of God's Glory.

I used to think I had to protect myself, that God had too many other people to protect. And just as dangerously, I thought the enemy wouldn't bother to mess with me because I wasn't worth messing with. I am humbled by the thought that I am worthy of both attack and protection. I have been attacked in the last couple of years in very specific ways. Ways that played on my fear of violence, ways that dragged up hurts I thought were healed, ways that made me feel vulnerable and unsafe, ways that played on my fear of loss and the unknown. But worst of all, ways that made me feel like I had to bear it all alone.

But I am realizing more and more that I am being protected in ways that are making me no longer lean on my understanding. Ways that are making me redefine security. Ways that are making me grateful for the present and vulnerable in the way God wants me to be vulnerable. Ways that are forcing me to rise up when I want to hide. Ways that give me courage and strength and humility. Ways that make me sit in awe and speak with hope. Ways that make me seek refuge. Ways that remind me daily that His ways are not my ways. And for that, I thank God.