I Always Said I Wanted to Time Travel...

I've often said I wanted to just go back in time for one day.

Maybe a few different days along my timeline.

I wouldn't relive major moments, trips, or celebrations.

I would just want a do-over of a random Tuesday morning circa 1995 with four babies running around (and definitely Ms. Thelma by my side) or a Saturday evening circa 1979 in front of the fireplace with Mom rolling our hair for church the next morning while The Love Boat played in the background.

I'd even sit through a legal pad dinner circa 1985 just to have one more meal with my original nuclear family.

Did anyone else have those?

After a lovely meal prepared by mom, my dad would retreat to his room and return with the big yellow legal pad.

Our lists of offenses would be read off (there are no Miranda rights for wayward teens) and a plea would be entered. It really didn't matter what your plea was because if the yellow legal pad was there, you were guilty.
Your best option was a heartfelt apology and a hearty plea bargain.

After the agreement was reached, you signed your name and the contract went into Dad's top dresser drawer. You know the one. It has more IOU's than a Swiss bank.

Yep, I'd even sit through one of those.

I just want to have one Emily Webb day. You all know Emily, the heroine in Our Town who realizes what we all do just a moment too late. That by the time we realize how precious life is, how we should've treasured every moment, we've already missed it.

I can appreciate my strong upbringing, or my beautiful children, or even an incredible education. But only in hindsight.

I can't go back and fully appreciate in the moment, as it was happening.

And I've always wanted to.

But I felt like I'd entered a time machine last week.

Because I ran smack dab into 17-year-old self on the streets of Pascagoula.

We'll call her Sophie and not only did she LOOK like me, she sounded just like me as well.

In fact, I cut her off after the first three minutes of her well-rehearsed manipulation speech.

"Not only do I know you," I told her, "I WAS you."

Of course, the lithe blonde eyed this overweight forty-something woman with trepidation.

Yeah, um, right.

She borrowed my phone as she called her grandfather with some cockamamie story.

Check.

She played the victim as she explained how through no fault of her own she wound up on the streets.

Check.

She insisted in that drug-fueled rapid speech that she was completely sober.

Check.

Forget, there's nothing new under the sun.

There was nothing new under the roof of my van!

I don't like to engage in war stories. They do nothing to further the kingdom of God.

But this girl needed to know that I'd been there, done that.

So I shared a couple of stories.

The mask fell away from her boyfriend's face immediately.

He got it.

He knew that I understood.

Furthermore, he realized that not only had I seen past the game, I was still actually helping them.

You can always feel that little shift in the spiritual realm when that happens. The whole world appears just a little brighter for a moment.

Sophie was a tougher nut to crack.

She peeked out from behind her mask and quickly retreated back.

She's been running from me ever since.

I hardly know this girl and yet I know her completely.

Pray for her.

She needs an army of prayer warriors.