A girlfriend from high school called a few days ago. It’s time for another class reunion so she wanted me to join her and some other alums for a planning session—a session located 5 hours each way by car for me. I graciously declined the lunch date but told her to let me know what they decide and I’d be happy to help out where needed.

As I hear myself telling her to please keep me in the planning loop I also feel this sense of dread at the prospect of actually seeing some of these people again. We only had 50 or so students in our graduating class and the only time we’ve partially reunited in 25 years is for someone’s funeral. A sobering thought.

Going back to one’s hometown for a class reunion isn’t always easy. I believe the smaller the town and the class—the harder the trip back. A high school class reunion for me is figuratively a trip back to one of the darkest periods of my life. I was known as the girl who cried a lot. How do I know this is how my classmates viewed me? They wrote this sentiment in our high school newspaper! And, in their defense, I did cry a lot. My sense of self-worth was extremely low. I felt all alone. I was desperate for positive attention and a sense of normalcy. And, to compound the entire situation, I was in a destructive relationship with someone who was verbally and physically abusive. Yes, I cried a lot.

As a young teen and through my early twenties, I didn’t know who I was. My self-definition depended upon people’s acceptance or rejection of me—not just the people closest to me but anyone. I craved approval and never felt at peace with myself. My desire to be seen as successful combined with my overwhelming sense of failure dominated my thought life. No wonder I felt about half crazy most of the time.

So as you can imagine, the last thing I want is to attend a reunion like the last where someone stands in front of the group and reads the observations forever laid down in print about each classmate. As I said, not because their observations about me weren’t accurate but because the story didn’t end there—it simply began there. Unfortunately, to some extent, we still see each other as we did then—somewhat of a rearview mirror perspective.

How thankful I am Jesus doesn’t just see me as who I was—a broken young woman—but instead called me to accept Him as my Lord and Savior and relinquish my old self and embrace my new self; a new identity in Christ (Eph. 4:22). In other words, upon salvation and forevermore, we are redeemed and our past no longer defines our present or our future. We no longer live life in the rearview mirror! We have hope and a future (Jer. 29:11)!

Girlfriend, I don’t know what objects appear in your review mirror but if you don’t know the freedom that comes with accepting Christ as your Lord and Savior, then don’t wait another moment. Ask Jesus into your heart and let Him bring redemption, restoration and revelation to your life. And, if you’re like I was so long ago—saved but adrift—don’t wait another moment to let Christ begin a new work and set a new course for your life (Phil. 1:6). Hallelujah! Amen!

C. Deni Johnson

©2016