I’d Go Back

“I’d return and tell that young teenage girl to remember grace. I’d tell her to walk in the freedom Jesus bled to give her. I’d tell her to breathe and allow the Holy Spirit to continue sanctifying her instead of desperately trying to sanctify herself with her own ‘goodness.’”

“I press ontoward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:14 CSV)

This isn’t the “right” thing to say. In fact, I’ve been scolded for voicing my thoughts on this because we’re “not supposed to live in the past.” I get that. But it doesn’t change how I feel. So here’s the truth: if I had the chance to go back, I would. I don’t say this to advocate that we live in the past. But I’ve learned a lot by looking back.

I’d go back as a teenager.

I came to know Jesus at the end of my eighth-grade year. It radically changed me. At the time, the path I was walking wasn’t leading to the Lord. Everything about faith and Scripture was new to me, and honestly, I was mesmerized by it all. It astounded me that the God of the universe would step down into human skin to save my soul. I loved reading the Word; I craved it each day almost as much as I craved chips and salsa.

But here’s why I’d go back: I became somewhat legalistic. I am a perfectionist by nature (but God has really been working this out of me). I am hard on myself and put very unrealistic expectations on my own shoulders. And as I began to walk with the Lord, I allowed this characteristic to seep into our relationship. I began to view my walk with Him as something I had to do perfectly, keeping a constant checklist and mental spreadsheet of whether I was doing a good job. I let it utterly crush me when I failed those standards. In wanting so badly to please Him, I wandered away from His heart. It robbed me of the joy in having a relationship with Jesus. It created a rules-based and performance-based walk with Him that took me several years to free myself from. Sometimes, I’m still freeing myself. So, I’d go back. I’d return and tell that young teenage girl to remember grace. I’d tell her to walk in the freedom Jesus bled to give her. I’d tell her to breathe and allow the Holy Spirit to continue sanctifying her instead of desperately trying to sanctify herself with her own “goodness.” I’d tell her how much mercy God had for her, and that it wouldn’t run out.

I’d go back as a wife.

Becoming a wife is life-altering. Suddenly, you’re weaving the fabric of your own life into someone else’s, creating an entirely different tapestry. You’re figuring out what it looks like to live selflessly. You’re seeing all his flaws, but he’s seeing all of yours. You’re figuring out schedules and hopes and dreams and finances. You’re figuring out where each of you stands on the big issues and the silly issues. You’re preparing one another for the rest of your lives and for eternity because you’re helping to make each other either more like Jesus or less like Him.

I would go back because I didn’t always handle this very well. I clung to my own selfish desires. I became bitter over the silliest things. I criticized, expecting perfection. I didn’t show grace. If I could return, I would soak up those first few years. I would stay up a little later instead of rushing off to bed because I was a teacher and had to wake up so early. I would listen more. I would share more. I would encourage more. If I could’ve seen what my husband would one day carry me through—loss, grief, anxiety—I’d rest knowing I had all I needed. And I would practice gratitude each day by just thanking him for being there. With every fiber of my being, I’d go back.

I’d go back as a mom.

I can’t even type those words without my throat jumping into a knot. This one haunts me the most because the time here feels most fleeting. I blinked. I blinked and now have a 4th-grader and a 1st-grader. I blinked and I can’t hold them like babies anymore. When I became a mom, I was riddled with anxiety. I was terrified of doing it wrong. The nights were long, and their colic was real! During that season, I wavered between exhaustion and viewing things as a chore. I wavered between enjoying it and rushing it along. I had no idea. I had no idea I would one day ache to return.

I’d go back and hold them longer. I’d look at their features longer. I would breathe in their baby smell more deeply. I would be less obsessed with a schedule. I’d stay connected to the Lord, even if just for a few moments each day. I would remain in His Word because I desperately needed it then to sustain me. I became depleted without it. I can see things more clearly now. I can see that rushing any of my time as a mom was wasting some of the sweetest years of my life. It’s reasonable to feel overwhelmed as a new mom, but I allowed it to take control. I wouldn’t give it that opportunity if I had the chance to return.

Time marches on, no matter how much I protest. I can’t go back. Don’t think I haven’t asked God to supernaturally let me do so for just a little bit. But here’s what I (and you) can do. We can look back. We can hand over the guilt or regret. And we can let it shape how we live now. Looking back is an art—a tricky balance of not letting it consume you—and I haven’t mastered it yet. I’m learning the balance of looking back in order to learn—in order to celebrate where I’ve been and to choose to be present and grateful for where I am now.

I don’t know what stage of life you’re in, but I want to encourage you to live it. I want to remind you that God loves you so very much. He isn’t requiring perfection. He longs to show you grace. And we can march with time while also looking back. We can take all we’ve learned—even when it hurts and even when our throats knot up—and allow it to help us live more intentionally now.

Look back, but press on, friend.