I write from a (mostly) quiet coffee shop counter. It is the hour at which the only customers are the ones who are like me: drowsy but still focused, and content when left to themselves; every new walk-in either feels like an intrusion or destiny. Behind me, the coffee pot sizzles like a small, sad version of our fireplace at home. You don't know how lucky you are. I should be pored over the French textbook next to me, but my head and heart are filled with thoughts of you.
You, who strides with confident adolescent swagger down those high school halls like a blindfolded man through a minefield, unaware of the dangers on every side. You, who will scoff at Dad's lectures on purity but let me give the same ones ten minutes later, collapsed across my bed instead of your own. You, who still calls me after every good Castle episode just so we can yell excitedly at each other through the phone, even if only for five minutes, after which I hang up longing to hear what's really going on in your heart.
Do you have any idea where you are?
You are at the crucial point of your existence. Some might say it's when you leave home, or when you start working, but I say it's now. At the precarious, fragile beginnings of high school, when it's not cool to care yet, and you can skate by on apathy and shallow friendships.
Don't. Settle.
You have the biggest heart. The strongest voice. The things that God could do through you are unimaginable. He could transform that entire, terrifying school. I want bigger things for you than I could have ever accomplished in those four years. You have so many gifts that I don't: natural leadership, unapologetic opinions, and a knack for making friends. You are the perfect balance of strength and gentleness, and you could probably take my place at Gordon and win over everyone that I know in the time it took me to make one real friend. The Holy Spirit would spread like wildfire with you as a vessel and it makes my heart ache with preemptive pride because I know that in your heart of hearts, you know it too.
It's so unfair of me to ask anything of you. For you to deny the worldliness of your friends, give up every shred of the image you so carefully craft, treat girls as precious treasures even when none of them around you are worth your effort, and chase after God with everything you have would take miles more courage and maturity than I had at your age.
But oh brother, I wish it. I wish it more than anything. Some days, I'm enjoying a solitary breakfast, or trudging through the icy slush to class, and am overwhelmed with the sudden longing to walk every step through that school beside you and shield you from its blows. My heart breaks for you daily because I have so much love for you. You've been my friend so many times when I had none. You've picked on me one moment and picked me up the next. You've rejoiced with me, mourned with me, gasped over TV show twists with me, and made a fool of yourself on family vacations with me. No amount of thanks can cover the extent of joy you've brought to my life. I want nothing but the highest joy for yours, and I've seen where it's found: in Him. Your unrelenting zest for life and adventure would be more than satisfied by a life devoted to Him, and it's my prayer every day that you would seek it.
Perhaps one day, when you have crossed the minefield and are preparing to embark on a life of your own, I will tell you these things with my hands on your (much higher) shoulders and you will hear the truth in the tears that choke my voice. Until then, I remain behind this quiet coffee shop counter, praying with an aching heart.
Be brave, pal.
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