A Note to My 17-Year-Old Self by Shellie Rushing Tomlinson

Dear Seventeen Year Old Shellie,

I’m supposed to write you and explain some of the things you need to know before you go any further. Yes, I realize that “you know.” Why? Because you say that all the time but I’m talking about things that aren’t even on your radar, Missy, things that will help you live this life as deep and wide as possible.  Does that sound familiar? It should. You used to sit on a tiny wooden chair with your Sunday School class and sing a song called Deep and Wide with great gusto. Remember that? Excellent, you’re going to write a book about it one day. Ouch! Please don’t scream in my ear. It hurts. I agree, by the way. I think it’s “the bomb”, too, and you’re actually going to write more than one book, but that’s another story for another day.

Can I be honest? This whole idea of writing to you feels like a waste of time because I know full well you aren’t going to listen, at least not enough to take my advice. How do I know? Well, Shellie dear, your most trusted and preferred sources of information are the same people who double dog dare you to do things like try and swim the width of the lake in the middle of the winter— just to prove you can. For the record, I’m glad you made it that day. I still remember how numb your limbs got half-way through and how you laughed it off later with your friends. It should’ve scared you straight, but it didn’t, did it?  One day you’ll realize just how fragile life is and how blessed you are to still be living it despite that particular shenanigan and a few more that we won’t even get into here.

By the way, I appreciate how you are at least faking some interest here even though you’d rather be hanging out across the levee with your buddies.  I attribute that to your dear Mama, bless her heart. She is doing her dead level best to teach you some manners but you aren’t making it very easy on her. Imagine this, Shellie, one day you’ll value her ideas on what little ladies do and don’t do so much that you’ll try to document that wealth of training for future generations.  Yes, I am for real.

Prepare yourself for this next one.  Those plans of yours to be a photojournalist and travel the world, it’s not going to happen. You’re going to fall head over heels in love and get married in a whirlwind—to a farmer! Right, I’ve heard you say that before, too. You are “not marrying a farmer” and “your husband will have a nine-to-five job!” Forgive me for laughing, but didn’t your mama always say not to be so adamant about what you would never do? She had her reasons. What’s that? Well, I know how your dramatic little mind works. It will sound mysterious to you when I say you haven’t met him yet, but this man will be anything but mysterious. He will be solid, and true, and dependable. You won’t even realize how much you need those qualities in a man when you say “I do”, but trust me.  By the time the kids come you’ll begin to realize that he is everything you could ask for in a husband and the exact sort of father you would dream up for your children, if you were thinking straight. Instead, you’ll marry him because you are simply young, naïve, and crazy in love with his blond cuteness.

But, time is getting away. (It will do that a lot.)  I wanted to be brief here to increase the odds of you staying with me all the way through. So, allow me to skip to the heart of this post.  Remember that deep and wide phrasing I spoke of earlier? You’re going to discover just such a life, Shellie, but it’s not going to look anything like what you imagine. It’s going to be deep in what matters, and it will make you want to share your blessings far and wide. And get this, you’ll be able to trace it all back to that little wooden chair and The Story you first learned in Sunday School.  Who knew?  We sure didn’t, now did we?

Hugs, Shellie