If I Could Speak to My Younger Self
Dear Daniel,
I’m writing to you as you stand at the airport at the age of five, trying to understand what’s happening around you. You’re watching someone else leave, someone you love, someone who promised not to leave, and you’re wondering—“Why do people always leave? What’s wrong with me?” I see you fighting to rationalize what’s next, even though you’re just a child. You don’t realize it yet, but that curious mind of yours is already moving so many steps ahead, leaping to places it doesn’t need to go. You’re trying to piece together a world that feels broken, but in doing so, you’re stuffing emotions and feelings down so deep that if anyone were to dig, it would cause you to crumble.
Twenty-three years later, I’m writing to you from a place far removed from that Ogle home where you caught grasshoppers and looked out at the endless skies. I wish I could hold your hand and tell you this face-to-face, but here’s what I can say: you’ll make it to the place you told Aunty Debbie you’d be. You’ll live in that city you dreamed about, earning scholarships you didn’t think were possible. But boy, Daniel, it won’t be easy. Not one bit. You’re a fighter—and that’s a beautiful thing—but sometimes the weight of your decisions will hang heavy on your shoulders, almost too heavy to bear. Even now, as I write this, I feel it. You feel it too, don’t you? How everything seems so serious, so drastic when you make a decision? I know you do.
There’s so much I want to say to you—lessons I wish I could teach you now, warnings I wish I could give. But more than anything, I want you to know you’ll be okay. You’ll be more than okay. You’ll endure, you’ll thrive, and you’ll find a strength you didn’t know you had. But listen closely, Daniel. Here are some things I need you to know. These lessons will keep you safe. They’ll keep you grounded. And they’ll guide you closer to the Almighty—the one who has been pulling at your heart all along.
1. Stay Close to God.
I’m not being cliché, and I’m not trying to scare you like Debbie sometimes does. I know there are mornings when you wake up terrified, wondering if the rapture happened and you were left behind. But Daniel, you’ll never have to live with that fear as long as you stay close to Him. He’s not distant. He’s not waiting for you to mess up. He’s right there, holding you—even when you don’t feel it. Trust Him, Daniel. He’ll be your anchor when the storms of life rage.
2. Guard Your Heart.
I know you. I am you. You love so deeply, so fully, that it consumes you. You give and give, hoping for the same love in return, and when you don’t feel it—when you think you’re not getting it—you lash out. Or worse, you pull away and retreat into yourself. Stop. You don’t have to. Breathe, Daniel. Do things because you want to, not because you’re trying to earn someone’s love, approval, or praise. You’re not on stage. Leave the applause for the theater. God’s approval is the only one that matters. When you seek His approval, everything else—including Debbie’s approval and your own—will fall into place.
3. Always Tell the Truth and Act with Integrity.
Lies have a way of eating at you from the inside. You’ve already seen it, haven’t you? The whispered secrets, the exchanged glances, the things left unsaid when you ask the “wrong” questions. Don’t let that be your story. Live with integrity, Daniel. Speak truth, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. Truth will be your shield, and integrity will be your strength.
4. Listen to Debbie.
I know. I know. She’s not your mother, and you don’t want to call her “Mommy.” But one day, you will. And when you do, you’ll realize she’s been right about so many things. Her words—no matter how firm or frustrating they feel now—are rooted in love. She’s preparing you for what’s ahead, even when you don’t understand. Remember: everything is spiritual, and it all goes hand in hand with the natural. Trust her wisdom. It will guide you.
5. Trust Your Instinct.
That little voice inside you, the one that screams “danger”—listen to it. Don’t let the fleeting pleasures of the night dull that voice. Don’t silence your conscience. Your spirit knows right from wrong, Daniel. Trust it. And when you fail—and you will—I want you to know this: I forgive you. I’ve already laid it all at the foot of the cross. God has forgiven us, and so I forgive us too.
Truth be told, Daniel, there’s so much I wish I could say. So many things I want to warn you about, so many things I want to help you avoid. But then again, maybe this version of us wouldn’t exist if I did. I haven’t told you about our accomplishments yet—they’re a lot, and they’re impressive. But even with all of them, we still don’t always feel like we’re enough, do we? Like we’re only as good as our last achievement, our last “win.” That feeling never fully goes away. But here’s the truth, Daniel: you are enough. Right now, as you stand at that airport, scared and confused—you are enough.
Your dreams, Daniel, are precious. They’ll carry you through the darkest nights. They’ll give you something to hold onto when everything else feels impossible. But don’t forget to give those dreams to God. Let Him guide them. Let Him take them further than you ever could on your own. He’ll protect you. He’ll be your shield and your strength. Let Him use you. Make Him proud.
I love you, Daniel. And I’m proud of you. Even now. Be proud of yourself too.
With love and hope,
Daniel (23 years later)
