Letter In Pocket

I almost bagged this post. I was hoping “ya’ll” would be understanding if I told you I was too darn busy. I’ve been tidying up a book proposal and re-writing an elevator pitch exactly five million times. (And I mean it-five million times.)  In addition, I’ve been trying to get enough DoAheads done during said activities to keep my Darlings afloat while I’m gone.

Yeah. I could’ve have said that was the reason I wasn’t going to post much today. You are all so sweet.  I’m certain you would have given me a hall-pass. There’s just one problem.

It would’ve been a lie.

The “I’m living in crazy town” part isn’t a lie. It’s true. (It’s true virtually every day at One North Harmon.) The lie would’ve been that I opted to skip writing because of all the crazies. The truth is more complicated.

I just didn’t want to go there.

Every Thursday I get on a boat with  M’Lady Suzanne Eller. She shares a word prompt a week in advance and then a whole bunch of girlfriends and I head off to uncharted waters as we share in her #livefree community.

The word prompt this week?

What would you say in a letter to your younger self?

My first thought was that if I received such a letter I would want to leave it unopened and write, “Return to Sender.” For whatever reason, the prompt elicited a response in me comparable to a full blown, Jimmy Falon, “Ew”.

“What’s my problem?” I thought. I realize I’m a future-focused gal but why on earth should this “project” seem so painful.

I think it’s because I was afraid I’d be disappointed. Not with life. No, worse.

I’d be disappointed with me.

I sat in the porch early this morning. A beautiful South Dakota breeze, punctuated by the lonesome sounds of a distant train, made me wistful. I opened up my Bible and asked God, “Where do you want to take me?”

My eyes landed on the story about investment in the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew. I highlighted, circled and underlined as I read words like:

“I know you have high standards.”

“You hate careless ways.”

“You demand the best and make no allowances for error.”

“I was afraid I might disappoint you.”

Ugh.

“Lord, I think this was a mistake. Surely this isn’t where you meant to take me.” He whispered, “Keep reading.”

“The master was furious. ‘That’s a terrible way to live! It’s criminal to live cautiously like that!” {Emphasis mine.}

My cognitive gyros started to smoke. “God, is it possible that one of the reasons the master was so frustrated is because He wanted more for the servant?”

Tears started to trail as the implications of this truth and my “letter to self” began to surface. I wondered——–if God were to write a letter to my younger self, would He have told me to take more chances?

I believe He would have. But He would have added that I needed to trust Him more. He would have told me to remember that the outcome or “investment” always was, and always will be in His hands.

And so that dear Doaheads is what I would tell my younger self.

Take risks.

Go out on a limb.

Maximize inspiration!

Because He’s got this. He’s got me.

How about you? What word or words would you tell a younger version of yourself. Think about it this week. Do me a favor though. If you’re afraid your letter may point a gnarly finger at regret. Don’t let it.

Don’t regret it.

Don’t regret a thing.

You see, regret has no place in the shadow of the cross. Regret makes a mockery of the redemptive power of Christ’s blood.

Christ’s blood drowns regret.

However, if a letter to yourself journey’s toward’s repentance, well, that’s a whole ‘nother matter. I’d run with that one. Repentance has only ever brought good things into my life; second chances, new beginnings and one-hundred-eighty degree turns that point toward joy.

As for me? By the time you read this I’ll have left for a conference in the wee hours of the morning. Upon my arrival I’ll be like a grain of sand in the palm of Abraham’s hand (there will be many women there). I’m okay with that because the entire time my younger self will be cheering on my older self.

Take a chance!

Be risky!

Live life inspired.

It pleases the Master.

Your (letter in pocket) DoAhead Friend,