Dear 16-Year-Old Me,

Me at my baptism, surrounded by Mom, Dad and Rev. Al Smith.

I know you're carrying a lot right now—expectations, dreams, unspoken questions. You think you have to hold tight to every plan or it’ll all fall apart. But I’m writing to tell you something important: some of the dreams you cling to won’t come true—and you don’t have to grieve them forever. They’ll give way to things you haven’t even begun to imagine. That’s not a failure. It’s grace unfolding.

You may not become a teacher in the way you once pictured, but you will be shaped by some of the best teachers around—Mom, Barbara, Martha, Stan. You’ll learn to see people not through pity or inspiration, but through love, dignity, and radical belonging. That lens will shape everything: your parenting, your ministry, your leadership, your friendships. You’ll help build communities that truly make room.

There’s a kind of joy you’ll find in the simplest things—joy that will ground you, remind you who you are. Standing at the edge of a pool watching someone you love glide through the water. Singing in harmony and feeling your voice lifted by others. These are sacred moments of presence and connection. They will sustain you.

And I want you to know this, too: some of the quirky skills and quiet passions you’re cultivating now will serve you in surprising ways. All those long afternoons spent mastering Tuts Typer? They’ll become the foundation of your weekly sermon-writing rhythm. And fractions and geometry—which came so easily to you as a kid—will fuel a love for sewing and cooking, two creative outlets that will bring you joy, calm, and a sense of home. Even more surprising? You’ll eventually find yourself enjoying gardening—yes, dirt under the fingernails and all. The rhythm of tending to living things will bring you peace in ways you never expected. The patience it takes to wait for something to bloom. Who knew?

Leave room for the unexpected. People will show up when you least expect it, and life will surprise you in ways both painful and beautiful. Don’t cling so tightly to what you thought would be that you miss what actually is. Let yourself be disappointed sometimes. Let others off the hook. Practice grace—with them and with yourself.

So let go of needing every dream to work out exactly as you planned. Some will shift. Others will fade. But in their place will come a life richer than you can imagine—full of wonder, brimming with love, marked by grace. A life not of perfection, but of depth. You don’t have to know everything now. Just keep showing up. Keep being you.

And thank you—for your courage, your softness, your stubborn belief in goodness. Thank you for dreaming big, for trying even when you were scared, for loving deeply. Thank you for laying the foundation of the life I now live. I carry your strength and spirit with me every day.

With love and deep gratitude,

Laura