Around this time of year, with commencement exercises ahead and many graduates of all kinds thinking of the future, I find myself wondering what I wish my younger self had known as I set out into the world. If early-forties me could send down for a coffee chat with fresh-college-grad me (who did not, at the time, like coffee), what would I say? What truths would I share?
After some thought, I settled on five truths that I’m not sure I could’ve learned any other way than by living through them…but that younger me would have perhaps been surprised to hear.
You can’t screw it up. In your early years, with so much ahead, there exists under everything this desperate fear of Getting It Wrong. I don’t just mean in the sense of choosing the wrong job/career/relationship/move, but in the spiritual sense. I wasted a lot of time trying to figure out what God’s will was: I expected that in any given moment He’d have opinions about the city I should live in, the job I should take, or what I should do in any number of both minor and major situations. In truth, if we in good faith align ourselves in obedience to Christ in all circumstances, if we seek to love Him first and love others as ourselves, there’s very little we can “mess up.” He will open doors; He will redeem our failings; He will accomplish His work regardless of us. Seeking Him in all things is the first best way to follow Him in any other area.
You don’t know what suffering is, and you are going to find out…and it will be horrible and also beautiful, in the end. I hurt when I was young, of course. My grandparents passed away. The boyfriend I thought I’d marry dumped me. And in that context, I suppose I did suffer. But age will introduce you to bigger, deeper hurts—the suffering that leaves marks, the suffering the Psalmist articulates, the suffering that we can only hand over, helplessly, to God. The suffering that cannot be fully healed this side of heaven but that aches for redemption. When you are young, you don’t really understand the depth of some of the pain ahead. And because you don’t, it runs the risk of rocking your faith and your perception of God. But on the other side of that pain is an experience of God you cannot have otherwise. Endure, and you will find the beauty in the ashes.
You will find both hurt and help from unexpected places. To my younger self, I would offer this warning: some of the people you love most will hurt you without meaning to do it. The church you thought could do no wrong will break your heart. The holiest people are flawed through and through. You are going to have to learn forgiveness in a way you never had to learn it before. But also… An acquaintance at your job will turn into a ride-or-die faith friend. People you haven’t even met will celebrate Christ with you. You will find sincere people of faith making a difference for Christ in three entirely different denominations. At one of the most difficult times of your life, your friends in the Catholic church will carry you through on a tidal swell of love and faithfulness. You will discover the beauty of the liturgy and you will weep for the joy it creates in bringing you closer to Christ. There is so much wonder coming that you can’t anticipate or imagine.
You need to get a lot less sure about everything. I left college certain in my theological stances, my approach to evangelism, my interpretations of certain “open for debate” verses, and what Christians looked like and how they behaved. Older me is mortified by how rigid, self-righteous, and certain I was about The Right Way To Christian. Experience and time has taught me I know less than I think I do; that humility sets the stage for understanding and growth; that God will always, always, always, surprise me.
He never stops pursuing you. It was so easy, then. I grew up in Christian cradles: churches, campus ministries, organizations. My Christian walk was all but scaffolded and handed over to me. I couldn’t not seek God: I lived on a God-seeking escalator. Adulthood, though, changes this.
Sometimes churches don’t survive, or they change in irrevocable ways, or for geographic reasons you have to part ways. The communities of faith you knew and loved can’t always be replicated elsewhere. Your buddies of faith in college become the distant contacts of adulthood. Tragedies happen. The ground gets shaky. The escalator breaks. You have to start seeking God alone at times; sometimes you succeed and sometimes you don’t and sometimes you forget because you were never ready for so much stuff.
And yet. God never stopped finding me. Through books, through late-night suburban walks, random rainbows, Scripture at the right time, an unexpected song, a texted photo of a Bible study sent by a friend, my father’s words, my husband’s advice, the call from a friend, that flower I saw three years ago, through creatures and sunsets and birds and podcasts. And failing all that, He found me in the silence: when I was awake in bed at night waiting for the call to tell me mom was gone, on the furious rain-soaked walk when I couldn’t articulate why I was so mad, in a quiet office when I couldn’t make myself work.
When I was young I always worried about being a “good” Christian. May God have mercy, I don’t know what the final verdict on the quality of my faith will be. But I know God relentlessly seeks me even when I have forgotten I need to be found. His faithfulness is astounding. When I prayed, in high school and in college, don’t let me forget You, He listened, and He hasn’t.
Everything changes and much will still change, but He remains.
He always, always remains.
Samaritan's Song 