i met my younger self for coffee...

*inspired by Jennae Cecelia (@jennaececelia)*

I met my sixteen-year-old self for coffee last week on a Wednesday afternoon. We both arrived at the tiny café ten minutes early, but we stayed in our respective cars until we were two minutes late. She popped her knuckles as she walked across the street, a slight skip in her step. I walked slowly, admiring how she held her head high. She wore a pair of denim shorts that were a bit too short and a beige Jesus Loves You t-shirt, whereas I wore a little sundress with a slim, silver necklace and diamond-studded earrings.

I hugged her when we got inside, wishing I could soak in a bit of her sunlight. A bit of the hope and joy and optimism she wore so proudly. She ordered an iced caramel macchiato, and I got a hot vanilla latte with cinnamon sprinkled on top. Drinks in hand, we found a cozy booth in the corner, just by the window. We sat in silence for a moment while we savored the first sips of our coffee and watched cars zoom past.

“So,” I said, nestling deeper into the worn leather seat. “What’s up?”

She shrugged with a smile. “Not much. But I’m starting college next week!” There was an innocent shimmer in her eye—a dash of excitement and a hint of pride. Finally measuring up to who everyone wanted her to be. Looking forward to doing something big. Something extravagant enough to catch the attention of others.

“How exciting,” I choked out with a smile. Perhaps a tear even welled in my eye, though I wasn’t convinced. “What classes are you taking? And what school?”

“Liberty University.” She nearly screeched it, and her grin was so wide that I think I saw her molars. “An American government class and a whole course for online success.”

“You’re going to do amazing, love.”

“Do you remember when we started college?” She waited expectantly, that optimism in her chocolatey irises blossoming.

“That I do.”

“Well? Does it all work out? Do we do okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah, we make it just fine. I promise you that much.”

She took a long sip of her coffee, doing a little dance as the espresso trickled down her throat. “And what’s even cooler is that I’ll graduate two years early. Like, I bet I’ll find a good job right after I graduate.” She smirked, mirth flooding her face. “And maybe I’ll get a boyfriend.”

I smiled softly as a pang ran through me. How was I to tell her that neither of those things would happen? I quickly decided not to say anything at all.

“Oh, but what I really want to do is finish my last two years of college on campus.” She leaned forward, a strand of dark hair tumbling loose from the messy bun that sat perched on her head. “It’s only a twelve-hour drive from home. And I’ll make so many friends! I’ve already started applying for scholarships. And besides, how fun would it be to live in a new state all by myself?”

“Tons of fun,” I whispered. Another thing that wouldn’t happen. Another dream, shattered.

She grinned and shifted so she sat crisscross in the booth. “And maybe while I’m on campus, I’ll find the one. And then when I graduate, we can get married shortly after.” Tugging out her phone, she pulled up a Pinterest board called “When I say ‘I Do’.” She scrolled through a handful of wedding dresses and cakes and rings and floral arrangements. “Oh, it’ll be beautiful.”

But the hope in her eyes faded a bit when her gaze dropped to my hands, curled around my paper cup. I didn’t wear a ring. Didn’t have one to wear, even if I wanted to.

“You’re going to do great in college,” I said, distracting her. “It’ll be worth it. It won’t feel like it, and it’s going to be hard, but I promise you’ll come out just fine.”

She smiled softly, her dimple showing. “Do we finish with good grades?”

“Yep.” I nodded. “We finish our associate’s degree pretty well. And we finish our bachelor’s degree summa cum laude.”

Head tilted, she squinted at me. “Sumo come what?”

“Summa cum laude. With highest honor.” I tossed a wink her way before sipping my latte. “And after that… We get our master’s degree in creative writing.”

Her eyes widened with wonder. “A master’s degree? Why would we do that? You don’t have to have any degree to be an author, nevertheless a master’s degree.” She paused for a moment. “We do become an author, right?”

I gave a soft, subtle shrug. “Someday we will. God’s timeline just doesn’t match with ours.”

“Oh.” It was all she gave, all that slid from her agape lips. “We keep writing, though, yeah? What books do we come up with?”

“Yes, writing will always be a part of our life.” Running my finger around the lid of my cup, I nodded once. “Well, the book we’ve already written—the one you love so, so much—is a book that will stay between us and God. But you’ll start writing another one here soon, and it’ll be our debut someday. It’s a western, with cowboys and pioneers and gold miners.”

“Historical fiction?” she croaked. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Yep. Get used to it. It’ll become your favorite in due time.”

“Whatever you say,” she chuckled. After a moment of silence, she popped her knuckles and set her feet on the floor. A solemnity crossed her face, and her smile faded into a slight frown. “Hey, you know all the friends I’ve got?”

“Yep.”

The faces of old friends flashed through my mind. All those summer nights by the riverfront, laughing and talking. All the backroad drives with the windows down and the music up. All the late-night sleepovers and movie nights. I couldn’t not know the friends I had.

“Do they stick around? Do you still talk to them?”

I couldn’t look my younger self in the eye. Not with the answer I had to give. I breathed in deeply, took a long swig of coffee, and peered out the window behind her. “You know something, dear one? Sometimes the Lord puts friends in your life for a season. And no season lasts forever.”

I couldn’t bear to see her face, so I dropped my gaze to the wooden table. I ran my finger along the surface and circled a knot.

“But…” Her voice cracked, and in my peripheral vision, I caught her shoulders dropping. “But I thought they’d stay forever.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know. But you’ll be okay, I promise it.” I finally looked up at her to find a rogue tear sliding hastily down her cheek. “God won’t ever leave you.”

“But I want the friends I have to stay forever.”

“I know you do, sweet girl. I know you do.” I reached across the table and pulled her hand into mine. “Some move away to college, some get married, and some you’ll have to learn to let go of. It’s going to hurt, but I promise God won’t leave you through any of it.” I scooted to her side of the booth and wrapped her in my arms as her breaths quivered.

“I don’t want that to happen.”

“I know. But I promise you one thing above everything else. God will make it good. He’ll bring beauty from it all. It’ll hurt, but don’t you ever forget that joy comes in the morning.”

“We don’t get married, do we?”

“No, not yet.” I ran my hand up and down her back. “But you’re going to be okay with that.”

“No—”

“Yes, my dear.” I pushed her away just enough for me to be able to cup her face in my hands. “You’re going to face a lot of heartache and loss, but God will get you through it. And He’s going to hold you and dry your tears and provide everything you need.”

“But God feels so far.”

“Faith isn’t about feeling, honey. Faith is about trusting that He has promised to never leave you or forsake you.”

“Am I going to be lonely?”

I shrugged a bit while moving away and grabbing my coffee again. “Yeah. But you’ll learn how to give that to God and grieve the life you never got. And you’ll learn how to find healing in the Lord before you find comfort in anything else.”

“Do we get any new friends?” Her soft, pimple-ridden cheeks were soaked with heartache, with silent tears.

I nodded. “You’ll find new ones, but you must remember that God is the only thing that will ever be constant in your life. Friends will come and go—and you’ll lose more than you gain—but God won’t ever leave your side. He’ll bring good out of your sorrow. You’ve just got to be patient. The right friends will stick around, I promise.”

She stared at me for a long minute, steadying her breathing and drying her face with the back of her hand.

“What’s coming will be hard, my dear,” I said slowly, “but I promise He will bring good out of it. He’ll bring you what you need when you need it.”

“But from what you’re saying, nothing good happens.”

Tears pricked my own eyes. “We don’t get to decide what is and isn’t good, lovely. That’s His job. And He has promised to bring good out of everything we face.”

“But we don’t go off to college. We don’t get a boyfriend. We lose all our friends. We don’t become an author.” She shook her head and looked away. “None of our dreams will come true.”

“Not yet, at least,” I said, setting a hand on her shoulder. “But, dear one, we find God in the process. We find Him in the broken dreams. In the heartache. In all the things we prayed to have and never got. We find Him there at rock bottom when we have nowhere else to turn.” I brushed a thumb across her cheek and caught a loose tear. “We find God, dear girl. And that’s all that matters.”

She nodded, sniffling. “We’ll be okay, right?”

“Of course we’ll be okay. We’ve got God with us.” I smiled, pulling her into a hug again. “He’ll make us whole in due time. His grace, sweet girl, is perfectly sufficient. No matter all the broken dreams and no matter all the tears we cry, He’s enough. If you have Christ, you have enough.”

To my surprise, knowing full well she didn’t love physical contact, she hugged me back. She leaned into me, her moist cheek wetting my shoulder. “You promise it’ll all be okay?”

“I promise.” I squeezed her tighter, a sob hitching in my throat. “I promise it’ll all be okay. God will make it good.”

She pulled away and checked the time on her phone. “I’m gonna be late for Wednesday night church if I don’t leave now.”

I nodded and gave a soft grin. “Atta girl.”

“Thanks for meeting with me today.” She stood and tugged her car keys from her pocket.

“Of course,” I said. “It’ll all be okay. I promise. He’ll make it good. That’s what He does.”

After a final hug goodbye, she shuffled out of the building, her worn Converse scraping the ground. I watched her cross the street with tears in my eyes.                

“He’ll make it good,” I whispered to myself. “That’s what He does.”