Versions

I’ve been thinking about how we change as we go through life. What would it be like if we could put all the versions of ourselves together in a room? The 5^th grader, becoming aware of how big life really is, the insecure sixteen-year-old headed to the first youth deal, the person you’ve become as the true weight of life settles on your shoulders.

Following is an excerpt from something I once wrote titled Dear Girl I Used to Know:

 

I don’t know exactly when you disappeared, that girl that made up songs while driving on the Mississippi River levee. The one who hauled a scarecrow along to an organized youth deal… How long has it been since I’ve seen you, the girl who crawled on her belly through the grass to sneak up and fix window clings on car windows? Who sang off key on purpose and at top volume with her friends late at night? The girl who has a sordid history with dummies and toilets in Tennessee.

 

There are days I miss you—the way you laughed so readily, the way you truly believed that all the world was at your fingertips. How you were innocent enough that you were not afraid…of big dreams, of the future…

 

There are days I think of you and smile wistfully. I know I’ve outgrown you—some friendships are like that—but I wouldn’t mind squeezing into a vehicle with you and laughing until my sides ache once in a while.

 

The girl in this letter has long since been replaced. I wonder how many versions of me are left? Is it fair to compare the past versions of me to who I am now?

Too many times I look back and cringe at the younger me. The current me is mortified and impatient with what she sees. The current me wonders how in the world my parents put up with raucous sleepovers and string confetti and girls making up songs at midnight after eating chocolate cake. How did my boss have patience for the things my young coworkers and I put him through? (There was far too liberal a hand when it came to fixing certain stickers to people’s backs and tying tags on apron strings.)

If I think about it long enough, I start wondering how God had patience with me. I did so many things that I shouldn’t have. I stumbled about and made mistakes and had to ask for forgiveness again and again.

Paul speaks in Philippians about forgetting the things of the past. If only it was that easy!

I want to think that things are “one and done.” Somehow I get stuck on the idea that since I was saved at a young age, I ought to have lived a fairly perfect life since then. I ought to be making all the right decisions and know just how to present myself by now. But the truth is, I don’t. I still mess up. I still make mistakes. And let me tell you, my mistakes look pretty big when I compare them (which of course, I shouldn’t) to the tiny mistakes of others. They talk about little things like feeling selfish or being impatient. My sins look much bigger. 

In 2 Peter 1:2, we read that “Grace and peace be multiplied unto you through the knowledge of God, and of Jesus our Lord,” (Go ahead and read verses 3 and 4, too.) This verse gives me a tiny glimpse of hope. Maybe I wasn’t meant to have everything figured out. Maybe if I make choices to continue to know God and His Word and His will for me, there’s hope that I can grow.

And then there’s Philippians 1:6: “Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.” This verse helps to bring things into focus. God has begun a work in me. It is not finished. I need to trust His timing.

When I realize I am a project and not even supposed to be perfection like I so often mistakenly believe, things look a little more doable. I am able to give the younger versions of me more room, more grace for the mistakes and poor choices and the bad attitudes. I am able to hold more gently who I once was, and regard that person as beloved of God, not disdained. He has spent so much effort trying to refine me, I must actually mean a lot to Him.

I have a terrible tendency to spend so much time dwelling in the past and worrying about the future that I forget to be present in the moment where I am.

Understanding that I am a work in progress and being OK with the disastrous past and trusting an unknown future into the hands of God, gives me the space to be in the now. I don’t know the “day of Jesus Christ” until which I will be continuing to be sanctified. All I know is that God’s timing will be impeccable. He will not expect me to be a finished vessel months before that day comes. Relaxing into God’s timing for my growth means I can relax into a place of peace and joy. It means doing what I know in the moment and leaving the rest up to Him. It means continuing to find new versions of myself as He continues His good work.

And those other versions of me? The ones from 10 years ago, or 5, or even a year ago? If I could hang out with them, they would remind me of how far I’ve already come. They would probably tell me the progress is greater than I realize. That girl from 18 years ago? She would tell me to breathe easy and laugh freely. It might even be good advice.

And so I say the same to you. Don’t let things from your past dictate your future. Those old things that you’ve already been forgiven for can be rendered helpless to steal the joy of today. Lay your future into the hands of the One who knows how to do the work—it is a good work, remember—that your life needs. Trust that He will perform that work when, where, and how it will be most beneficial for you.

I really think what I’m trying to say here is to trust God. Trust His compassion and understanding for where you’ve come from. Trust His grace for where you are. Trust His love and desire to give you good things in the future.

Trust the process. Change is scary, but there cannot be growth without change. And there’s no one you would rather have working on your vessel than God.