Dear Younger Me

I love the ocean. The soothing sound of the rolling waves, how they still the tired soul, the various seashells resting on the shoreline, waiting to be inspected, tucked into a coat pocket, seagulls telling us how it really is. And the left-over granules of sand that follow you home, how they sift out of the shoe at unsuspecting moments, dust the floor, the carpet with tender memories. In my teen years, we lazed on a beach blanket for hours at a time, Baby Oil slathered all over our innocent bodies, flipping through a Seventeen magazine, gazing at Twiggy, at her hair-do, at the body we sighed over but now we'd rather wear elastic waistbands. The salty breeze fanned our sun-burned young bodies, unaware we were then of the importance of sunscreen. If the soul was on our minds at all, we thought it was on the bottom of our Capezio flats.

As the body ages limitations can at times set you on the sidelines, a humbled spectator, a grateful cheerleader. Possibly dabbing a bit of sunscreen on the face. It's during those moments that the teenager inside longs to be part of the action, screams at the injustice of the pain, but the older, wiser part understands that the soul can be fed holy peace in the stillness, in the quietude of the unrepeatable moments. It's in the brokenness, the pain and sorrow, the interruptions and uncertainties that He does His best work. So you lean a bit further into Grace, breathe deep, grateful breaths, wear comfortable clothes, steal every bit of joy you can, and then steal some more. This then, is blessed manna for the soul.

"The Past is frozen and no longer flows, and the Present is all lit up with eternal rays."

~C.S. Lewis~