By Kelsey Scism 
I met my future self for coffee. I pulled in next to her, opening my door carefully so as not to scratch her door. Not brand-new, I noticed, but nice—more than what I can afford now. “Good for her,” I thought.
I walked in and spotted her sitting at a table. She waved me over with a welcoming smile and stood to hug me. We paused like that for just a moment. Both of us knowing the other needed an extra second of an understanding embrace.
I sat and picked up my caramel latte for a sip as she moved hers to the side and looked at me with kindness. I wanted to ask her questions—so many questions. Did my oldest end up overseas, living the slow, simple life in a cottage she dreamed of? Did we survive the teen years with those first two boys? How can I be ready for round two of hormones and big emotions with our second girl? Did I send my little boys to school at the right time—was that extra year granted by a summer birthday the right move? Did we mess them up? Did our kids thrive despite our failures?
So many questions. But they never left my lips. Instead, I said . . .
I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see you. In the chaos of raising kids and worrying about how it would all turn out, it felt impossible to think that one day, we’d be on the other side. But here we are. Here you are. You look good. And happy. And content.
Remember how hard it was? Raising kids. Remember how you constantly worried you were messing everything up? When you see a mom, now, will you tell her she’s doing a good job? Even if her kid is in the middle of a meltdown, even if you don’t know her well, even if—especially if—her kids are teenagers. Tell her you remember how hard it was and that she’s a good mom.
Remember how you prayed for our kids? How you’d write your prayers on notecards and hang them in their rooms—a trick you learned from another mom. How you’d stand outside their rooms while they were sleeping and tell God all the things, knowing the Holy Spirit was standing beside you, praying with you. Keep praying. I think they still need it.
Remember how busy we were? The days we felt like an Uber driver—the one nobody would tip because her car was really messy and sometimes she got a little cranky. Remember that? Now, when your kids struggle to find a day to give you (and rarely all at the same time or on an actual holiday), remember they’re busy, and once, you were too. They still love you. They still enjoy being with you. It’s just that their priority is their children, just like yours was. Don’t make them feel guilty. Keep your door open and make the most of the time you get. Love them while you have them.
Remember how you and your husband went to Home Depot or a drive into town for a soda without kids and called it a date? Keep dating him in those little ways, and throw in some big ones too—adventures to new places, trips to those baseball parks he always wanted to visit, and ask him to watch the sunsets with you. Oh, and remember how you loved to do projects together? But eventually, you had to divide and conquer—one of you working on the project while the other kept an eye on the kids. Do a project again . . . together.
Remember that feeling of sadness and completion when you realized there would be no more babies? How you’d see a sweet babe a few rows in front of you at church and want to hold her and love him, for just a minute. Hold your grandbabies with that same desire. Spoil them (just a little) and show them how to respect and honor their parents by following mom and dad’s rules.
Remember how we’d dream about these years? And how we promised not to lose our purpose and to greet each day with both ambition and the peace of not having to chase after the next thing. Keep living. Keep doing. Keep making a difference . . . however that might look. Lead a Bible study, teach a class, volunteer at a school, write a book. Just don’t stop living.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve wasted all our time. I’ve got to run . . . a kid needs me. Here I spent all our time talking, and really, I should have been listening, soaking up the wisdom of your years. We should do this again. Maybe in a few months when life isn’t so crazy.” I stood, grabbing my latte. I took a sip, but it was cold. I shrugged my shoulders and laughed a little. “I’ll pop it in the microwave when I get home.”
My older self stood, her hands pushing on the table as she rose. Her arms reached out, and I stepped toward her. Once again, we paused, soaking up the warmth of that hug.
“Thanks for the reminders,” she whispered. “I needed them.” She released me and waved me out. “Go on,” she said. “You’re a busy mama.”
I put the keys in my ignition, glanced at the clock only to realize I’d be late, again. I looked back through the coffee shop window, hoping to wave goodbye.
But my older self wasn’t looking at me. She was standing at a nearby table where a mom, her toddler, and her infant sat. The little boy dropped crayons as his mama shushed the baby and tried to take a sip of her coffee. My older self picked up a crayon and gave it to the boy. She turned to the mother, and I could read her lips.
“It’s hard isn’t it?” she said. “You’re doing a good job.”
by Lisa Ingrassia 
by Shelby Spear 
