I wonder at where you are and how life has treated you.
And I regret, my friend. I regret those words I didn't say.
When people ask, "what is your biggest regret in life?" your face pops in my mind and I ache.
And I remember.
I remember how we lived in that small, farming town in the middle of nowhere.
I remember how I was young--we both were. Just young girls in the middle of our high school years.
And I remember how we weren't alike and we didn't talk much. How we passed in the halls at church and we sat in the same Sunday school. But we were different--too different--I thought.
And we were polite and we said hello, and even called each other a 'church friend'--but I stayed within my circle and you in yours.
I remember hearing your story from others--the struggles you were enduring and the fear and anger you were feeling, and the choices you were making.
And I felt that tugging--the one that told me to stand with you and share in your pain. The one from the Holy Spirit that asked me to encourage you and show you His love.
But I didn't. Instead, in my weakness, I turned away, citing our differences and staying in the comfort and safety of my own world.
They say opportunity seldom knocks twice, but when it comes to the ways of the Father, it often does.
I remember feeling that tugging again during that youth conference.
Remember all of us girls, sitting in that hotel room, up long past bedtime, talking of our hopes and dreams? I remember talking of what God was teaching me and I remember you quietly listening.
And then you bared your heart and said you wished you could be good and how you wanted to know God like I did.
And that tug on my heart grew stronger, but I again gave into my weakness, and said you could and quoted a verse but quickly turned to talk to another friend. Scared to invest. Scared to get involved with someone so different than I.
That tugging never went away but I got better at pushing it down. Reasoning that you wouldn't listen to me, that you weren't the kind of influence I wanted to be around, that you might be too far gone.
I ache to think of my selfishness.
And God was patient with me. Giving me opportunity time and time again to go deeper with you. To lift you up. To show you His heart.
And I came close. Do you remember when you came to my house those few hours after church while your parents were gone? I had almost worked up the courage to go beyond the superficial chatter and bare His love for you and share how He had laid you upon my heart.
But I didn't.
I could have. The Lord was working in me. Was opening my eyes to the spiritual realm. Was showing me the Glorious. I was stronger in Him than I had ever been before.
But I still hesitated. Still couldn't quite open myself up enough to let Him use me as He was asking.
And then--maybe because of my stubbornness-- God closed that door. I never saw you again.
I heard, years ago, that you had suffered great loss, were living a hard life, had moved away and no one knew where you had gone.
I pray for you often, my friend. I pray that God is using someone better than I to reach out to you. Someone who is faithfully listening to His tugging and is showing you His never-ending, unfailing, unstoppable love.
And I pray that I am stronger now. I pray that I will unwaveringly heed His voice and reach out, no matter what, to those He is asking me to.
I'm sorry, my friend. I'm sorry for the words I did not say.
I pray that I may see you again, this side of Heaven. And if not, by His grace, may I see you there.
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