You know how people sometimes write letters to their 16, 18, 30 year old selves? My letter wouldn’t go back that far. I wouldn’t intone the wisdom of years. I’d write a letter to the girl of two hours ago, the girl from half an hour before.
Dear Me of a Few Minutes Before,
That insensitive, ugly thing that happened on the playground, the one that left you sucker punched. Yeah, that was hard. Then later hauling two kids home in the hot sun that on the walk down to the park felt golden, yeah, that sucked.
Remember how you kept going when all you wanted was to fall down on the hot concrete and weep? That a girl. You know how all you felt capable of was donning sack cloth and ashes and wailing but somehow you managed some inane comment about those yellow flowers? I’m proud of you.
I know you think you can’t do this. You can. I know you feel like you’re not cut out for this. You are.
You’ve surrounded yourself with smart, caring people. They are there for you. Your faith has not failed you. It’s steadfast truth. You believe in unfailing grace. Show it to yourself.
Yeah some moments are hard – they are. You can’t change that.
But you can keep going until you get to the beautiful ones.
Rise up, phoenix, RIse.