Last night I went to a junior high production of The Sound of Music. Several of the eighth grade girls I have the privilege of leading in youth group were performing or helping behind the scenes. The show was incredible and I was SO proud of each of my girls. I was also amazed by the set, the costumes, and the live orchestra. The talent in these middle schoolers blew me away; I genuinely loved being there to take it all in and cheer them on. It was also one of the first times I felt really established in my community: going to a local middle school event, knowing many families, and realizing I’m somehow old enough to be there supporting students as an adult mentor??

It feels like just a few years ago that I was in seventh grade playing a nun in the chorus of my own middle school’s production of The Sound of Music. Memories and insecurities that I haven’t thought about in ten years started resurfacing as I remembered past experiences, longings, and dreams I held in my heart. I was caught off guard to realize despite my change in scenery and life stage, the scared, self-conscious young girl I thought I had left behind is still part of me.

“I could never act like that. They’re way more talented than me. Maybe I would be more like-able if I could win a lead role like Maria. They’re having so much fun and must have a great community that I’m not part of. I’m always the shy one in the back. I shouldn’t be here if I’m not the best. Does anyone even notice I’m here?” Thoughts like these ran through my head, and I wasn’t sure if I was hearing them in the past or present tense.

I realized with a sense of grief that old wounds and insecurities never completely go away. There will always be scars on our hearts that have fully healed, but are scars nonetheless. I brought that to the Lord as I prayed this morning, imagining my heart caught in a jumbled mess of weeds deep within my inner heart garden. Together we sorted through the stems of each weed and flower, starting to acknowledge painful thoughts and experiences, some for the first time.

For example, starting around seventh grade as I joined more school activities, I started to believe I should only participate in something if I could be the absolute best. If I wasn’t the top performer in the classroom, orchestra, or sports team, I felt a sense of shame and embarrassment—not that anyone else expected this of me, but I demanded it of myself. This is still a thought that plagues me, and until I get to the root of the issue, it always will.

As I think about the eighth graders in my life now, I see some of the same patterns in them: struggling to hear and believe truth above the constant, swirling voices of comparison, fear, and insecurity. Asking the timeless question, “Am I enough?” I deeply empathize with their self-doubt, but I long for them to have self-compassion. And the only way to help them be kind to themselves is if I model it in my own life. I often encourage my girls to remind themselves “I am enough because Christ is enough.” I know it applies to me as well, but am I actually living like it’s true? When I face the humbling reality that I can never be the best—at anything in life—will I accept this as defeat? When fearful, shy, insecure Addie tempts me to run and hide, will I give in? Or will I receive my identity as beloved apart from what I do, and remember I can still seek to be the best possible version of Addie? That I am worthy to fully participate, apart from what I bring, just because I am me? *Cue the conviction.*

So back to middle school memories I go, speaking tenderly to thirteen year old Addie for perhaps the first time; addressing old fears and wounds from middle school that never fully went away, but have just been hiding. I asked Jesus what to do with these weeds that had been named and uprooted in my heart, since I have no way to dispose of them myself. *Cue the tears.* Jesus takes them, and buries them in his grave. Each dirty, painful, disturbing memory; every ounce of sin, and shame we carry disintegrates in his loving touch. He is not afraid to get in the weeds and the dirt of our hearts with us. When we are overwhelmed by the ugly within us, our loving Father does not leave us to untangle the mess ourselves. No, “as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us” (Psalm 103:12). Jesus already did the impossible. Now he can do it again by helping me love and accept myself as he does.

The conviction from this musical didn’t stop with middle school memories. The Sound of Music has always pulled on my heart strings. During the second act, I was taken back with vivid clarity to the night before I turned seventeen. I happened to be with friends in a beautiful white gazebo at dusk on the cusp of summer (already romantic, right?). I longed to have a boy swing me around and sing “You are sixteen going on seventeen.” The idyllic memory was tainted with the sting that this beautiful longing went unmet that night, and continued to be a source of disappointment well past age sixteen.

My heart went on a journey as I watched middle school drama unfold last night. Junior high is full of so much uncertainty, and in many ways it only increases as you get older. We had just talked about this in small group the night before. Some girls long to be sixteen, the prime age for more freedom and the ability to drive; others confessed they often want to be four and carefree again.

I learn so much from these girls. I too, struggle to know how to be myself in my current age. I long to be thirty-six with a spouse and kids, and to be six at the same time. My heart is like a yo-yo, jumping between the past and the future, and forgetting to be still right now. I’m currently twenty-three going on twenty-four. I finally have a guy in my life who can sing to me (and sing well!), and I’m tempted to miss it in my eagerness for the next stage of life. So I practice gratitude, and I let myself learn from these middle schoolers who sing: “A bell is not a bell till you ring it. A song is not a song till you sing it. Love in your heart isn’t put there to stay. Love isn’t love till you give it away.”

Life is full of so many difficult things we must hold in tension and learn to release. So many painful memories from the past, and beautiful longings for the future. The trick is finding our way in the middle by staying present to the blessing of right now. I give thanks that my eighth grade girls were thrilled to see me at their performance, and it didn’t matter that I was wrestling with insecurities just like theirs. I give thanks that insecurities resurface in order to heal, and can dissolve into the Father’s tender love. I give thanks that my insecurities don’t define me; my belovedness does. I give thanks that insecurities can only hurt me if I let them hold me back from offering my full self—from giving my love away.