A letter to myself.
Dear Sophia,
“I am willing.” That’s what you wrote on that paper one Sunday in Gainesville, Georgia, in the upstairs room that was really two rooms. You were proud of that word- willing, because it was a good word, and it was a fill-in-the-blank paper. And perhaps, looking back on it now, ‘willing’ was the best kind of word you could write on that paper.
Something I noticed about you is that you would look at challenges directly in the face and say, “I don’t fear you.” Maybe they were intimidating. But you were not someone to be afraid of a challenge- the worst hike of our life, or asking people to forgive your wrongs when they absolutely could have not done that and they chose to anyway, learning to love people when you really really do not want to, that sort of thing. I’m proud of you. I’m proud of your willingness.
I was looking through the first Bible we brought on the race. The pink and brown one that Mom gave to you when you were thirteen. I remember you studied it vigorously- realizing the Word of God is considerably more interesting than your father had ever made it sound. I remember falling in love with the book of Joshua.
Joshua held a lot for us. The notes we made in it were nearly prophetic, looking back on it- with the large theme of destruction written throughout that whole book spoke so much to our future ministry and even current ministry. I remember in Louisiana you shared your excitement about Joshua to an old couple around the dinner table- they could have cared less, judging by the looks on their faces, but you were so excited that you forgot to be ashamed.
That was the first time you shared the gospel with someone who you didn’t know and who you weren’t explicitly told to talk to. You just went. You told them all about destruction in the book of Joshua and how it related to destroying old, rotten homes damaged by the hurricanes. You told them how God was taking down many of your own walls that you’d constructed, all for the end purpose of having you be closer to him. And then in Costa Rica, we destroyed the jungle for ministry in order to build new things for God’s purpose.
Yes, Joshua has a lot of things in it for us. A lot of hard demolition work both physically and spiritually. But you know what still amazes me? That you never once said you were not willing to go through with it.
You were not raised as a quitter. You don’t ‘give up’. You don’t say, “That’s too hard for me to do so I just won’t.” Maybe you put things off for a while- like the time you had to write that really incredible forgiveness letter to someone important to you. It took you three weeks but you got to it. You don’t give up. You’re willing.
You do things out of the idea of, “Nobody told me I couldn’t.” In Costa Rica when you started writing the words God said in fun colors instead of black pen, it took you nearly the entire time you were there to realize that nobody normally does that or hears from God that well. Nobody told you that it was impossible. In fact, you grew up hearing that you absolutely could hear from God. So you just did, with the full expectation that it would happen. And you learned that God is really chatty.
Or even take prayer for other people. Nobody ever told you that you couldn’t ask God to tell them something through you. So you did it. It wasn’t a, “Please use me for this”, but instead was, “Oh, you want to use me for this? Okay.” Nobody had ever said you couldn’t. So you did. And you learned that God can use whoever and whatever he wants to use.
Sophia, you live without limits. At least far less than you used to. And that is fantastic. Nobody has ever put limits on you. Don’t put them on yourself, now.
Live without limits. Live willingly. I’m so proud of the person you’ve become. Keep that willing spirit, whether it’s to carry wood up two mountains or to pray for someone.
Thanks, God, for that little paper and that church service all those months ago. Thank you for continuing your work in me even when I’m not willing, or when I’m limiting myself. Thank you for making me like Jesus. I am willing, God, to do what you want me to do.
Love,
Sophia
Amen