.png)
I met my younger self today. She was outside feeding the horses when I said hello. She was quiet, contemplative. A tear streamed down her face. “Is it going to be okay?”
I grabbed her seven-year-old hand and said, confidently, “Yes.”
I told her to embrace childhood and hold on tightly to her fondest memories of her home. She was scared that everything was changing, but I told her that she would have a lot of fun in her new homes. She tried to believe me. “Daddy is sick. Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s all better,” I said, and I told her that in just a few months he’d be walking me down the aisle to marry the love of my life.
“Is he just like dad?”
“He’s funny like dad, but he reminds me a lot of another Man you’ll come to know.”
Before I left, I told her to remain young. Be a kid. Climb as many piles of rocks as you can and
scrape your knees over and over. I told her that none of it was her fault and that her parents loved
her very much. I told her that it was okay to cry and ask questions and be confused. Then I asked
her to do me a favor. “Go inside and give your mom a big hug, okay? And tell her how much you
love her.”
I watched as she scurried inside and embraced Mom for the first time in too long. A tear
streamed down my face as I stood there, quiet and contemplative.
_____
I met my younger self today. She was leaving soccer practice and when she saw me her heart
started to race, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. “It’s okay,” I said, “I just wanted you to
know that it doesn’t end like this.” Then we just sat. She took short breaths and waited for the
dizziness to pass. She was comforted by the fact that, for once, someone understood that silence
was all she needed. I lifted her up in prayer and praised God for what I knew was already true:
His victory. When her third panic attack of the day finally faded, she managed to ask “Will this
ever end? Will I ever be good enough?”
“Funny thing is, you already are. You just don’t know it yet.” She looked confused and I could
almost hear her thoughts reeling: but I’m not first in the class, and I’m not a starter yet, and my
coach says I will never play in college, and my boyfriend is mad at me, and my sisters think I’m
just a kid, and I didn’t have a perfect drivers test, and if I could just get a 36 on the ACT, and my
friends don’t even like me, and I’m too loud and I’m too much and I’m not enough and I’m
unlovable and and and and….
As I read her mind, I told her that the Jesus she claims to know says grace and mercy and love
are free gifts. That she doesn’t have to earn it. That He calls her fearfully and wonderfully made.
That his peace surpasses all understanding and that one day even the anxiety attacks would end.
That He is faithful and keeps His promises. I told her that Jesus loves her exactly as she is, and
that His love is better than anything else she is too afraid to let go of.
She looked up at me for the first time, hopeful. She didn’t know it yet, but in just a few months’
time she’d come to believe all I had said to be true. She’d come to know that she was always
enough to the only Man who mattered.
______
I met my younger self for coffee today. I showed up right on time, but she was already there
waiting for me. We both ordered an Iced Chai, but really wanted a McDonald’s Coke. She had
been at UofL for a week now and was already loving it. She wanted to know if I had gotten into
law school. I chuckled and told her that instead I’d be stepping into full-time ministry at the
place that changed my life. “Changed your life?” she said… “but you already knew Jesus.”
“True.” I told her, but I explained that I never knew just how much Jesus wanted to know me. I
told her that the next four years would be filled with discovering who she was made to be
through some of life’s greatest heartaches, joys, and adventures. That in the next four years she
would learn more about Jesus than she ever had. That she would come to know herself better.
That she could never dream of all the ways she would grow and change and stretch herself. That
for the first time in her life she would discover the joy of leading others to know Jesus. That her
life was so different than she could have ever imagined in all the best ways. She asked me to tell
her more… She wanted to be able to prepare. To plan. To fit it in the calendar. “Some things are
worth being surprised by,” I told her.
If only she knew what I know now. That the four years I have spent at UofL really were the best
of times and the worst of times. That the McConnell Center would come to be the hardest thing I
have ever had to leave. That my heart aches at the thought of leaving yet rejoices at the prospects
of what is to come. That she would be meeting her husband the very next week. If only she knew
that her success was never measured by her title or career, but by pursuing the passions the Lord
has put on her heart with zeal. If only she could understand how great the Father’s love for her is.
She would never doubt or fear or worry; she would know that the Lord has her best interest at
heart. If only she knew what I know now, how deep her trust in Jesus would be.
_____
I met my older self for coffee today. I brought Swig and she was drinking her third water bottle
of the day (I hope). “If only you knew what I know now…” she said.
Camryn McPherson is a McConnell Scholar in the class of 2025. She is studying psychology and political science.