16≠20

At sixteen years of age, I was a mixed up, messed up, confused, hurting, distraught, mistaken little girl. At sixteen years of age, I thought love from a man was impressive. At sixteen years of age, I saw Christianity as a chore. I saw God with unimpressed eyes. I loved shallowly, hated deeply, and wept bitterly. At sixteen, I was so alone and so afraid. At sixteen years of age, I was self-conscious, self-loathing, and at the same time, so selfish. At sixteen years, I knew so little and understood so much less.

At sixteen years of age, I had yet to move past the mentality of a four-year-old. I longed for the love of my Father. I ached to be appreciated, to be seen, to be loved wholly, completely and without blemish. I yearned for the intimacy only One could bring, but didn’t know that. No one told me. And if they did, I’m sure I didn’t listen.

At sixteen-years-old, I screamed, shouted, ranted and raved. I was more headstrong than a young bull and more cold-hearted than the most malicious serial killer. I spit venom at anyone who dared come too close. I desperately wanted Love, but refused to allow anyone close enough to really show me what that meant. I let all the wrong people in.

To the people that it didn’t really matter to, I welcomed them into the depths of my heart and my soul to show them just how dark it was.

At sixteen years of age, I was angry at God for taking my brother away from me. At sixteen years of age, I understood almost nothing of His character or what He actually wanted for me and in me and through me. At sixteen years of age, I didn’t actually want anything to do with the real God.

At sixteen years of age, I lived in opposites. I wanted True Love, but fled from it when it presented itself to me. I closed myself off from people who really only wanted the best for me, but opened myself to all sorts of hurts and darkness. I shut down emotionally to some and wore my heart on my sleeve to others. I praised God one minute and cursed my friends the next.

At sixteen years of age, I had completely missed the point.

And at freshly twenty, I realized that

almost nothing had changed…

It all had started to, but I let it all slip away. I let Love slide into the background and allowed all my old demons to familiarize themselves with me. I stopped caring. I turned into that desperate, vengeful, scared, lonely sixteen-year-old all over again.

And I realized I had a choice. Hot or cold. I was never going to be luke-warm again. And this time, there was a huge difference between sixteen-year-old me and twenty-year-old me. That little girl hadn’t been to South Africa. That insecure child hadn’t had an experience that had rocked her entire atmosphere. This young woman knew that God was real and He deserved to be acknowledged. He deserved to be seen, to be loved, to have all of her devotion.

And so one day, I said “no” to it all, sat down, and opened my Bible. And I did it again the next day. And the day after that.

And then, not too long after all that, I opened an old journal and read an entry from March 19, 2006, when sixteen-year-old me poured her heart out on paper and showed me just how much I have changed and how beautiful God has made me and my life. And that not only can I be someone like me, but I can be me.

Unabashed.

Hopeful.

Alive.

Vibrant.

Pure.

Radiant.

Loved.

me.