Dear Me

Dear Little Julie

I've been wanting to write this letter to you to set some things right and make them clear and easy to understand. I've wanted to lift your innocent face with my trembling hand and tell you you're ok.

I'm sorry I've held you responsible for our pain. You're just a little girl and little girls should not be bowed low under the sheer weight of it all. The most you should be carrying is a stuffed rabbit and a backpack loaded with sparkly crayons and a lunchbox.

I'm sorry no one listened or at least read between your lines. You lived in a day when awareness was at ground zero and no one was paying much attention.
You deserved to be seen.
I see you now.
And I'm listening.

I'm sorry I prolonged your captivity by forcing you to keep secrets. Those were far too big and scary for you and they've kept you in the dark.
 Hiding.
 Fearful.
Silent.

Today is a new day.

I want you to be BRAVE. The kind of BRAVE that sets you free.
I want you to untie your hair and let it shake loose and fly everywhere. We'll worry about tangles later.
I want you to set the shame down and pick up some paint brushes instead and create with broad strokes till you're satisfied; filling the white space with vibrant, freeing color.
I want you to dance because you WANT to dance
I want you to see the magic in your one beating heart, waiting for the curtain to be pulled back to reveal its glory.
I want you to look in the mirror and see just a little girl. No other titles. No other names.
Did you know that God calls us Braveheart? You and I were born to do BRAVE things alongside Jesus and do them with a heart like no one else. So stand tall, little one. You've been chosen to do big and bold things for Christ and He's on the move. You can bring your stuffed rabbit with you.

And now listen. I want you to stop running and I want you to breathe. No more running, baby girl. Believe me when I say you are safe now. God is organizing an army of people He's chosen, to surround you, care for you, be playful with you, listen to you on bended knee, gently touch you and even hold you. It's coming. Just hold on.

I will remind you that it's ok to look up. Let your downcast, soulful eyes be seen.
I will whisper in your ear, "We do not deserve to keep hurting ourselves."
Even when you call yourself impossibly wretched names in the reflections you pass by, I will call you beautiful and adored.
I believe in you.
You are good.
And Jesus is pleased with you.
It's a lie that Jesus is disappointed with you. That you are too broken to belong to him .
Fight back.
I know you are tenacious so fight back.
There comes a time to stand up for your mighty self and declare a winner.
Do it.
I believe in you.

Look ahead with me. We've already changed the world in the ways God has asked us to. You are headed for greatness in Christ, which ultimately means smallness, but it's the best kind of small to be. So stay with us.
Let your heart run with the passion that is in there.

I'm going to tuck you in tonight if you'll let me. I long to take care of you. Nurture you. Walk you out into the light, hand in hand. And you know, out in the light is where it's warm. And that warmth is the kind that seeps down into little-girl brokenness and soaks and mends and heals.
It fades the dark circles from under your eyes and makes those gorgeous red highlights in your hair sparkle.

Once we are in the Light, we are going to stay there.

Keep breathing,
Julie