BB Grey–musings

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Daily Prompt: A Letter to My Hundred-Year-Old Self

Dearest Me,

Happy Birthday! Today, you turn 100—a century of breaths, heartbeats, and steps guided by a hand greater than our own. As I sit here, almost 50 years behind you on March 10, 2025, I can only marvel at the life we’ve lived. Half a century has passed since these words first spilled from my heart, and oh, what a journey it must have been. I imagine a tapestry woven with threads of love so deep it aches, happiness that lifts the soul, sadness that carves us hollow, successes that humble us, and failures that draw us nearer to grace.

Who’s still beside you, dear one? Who have we lost along the way? I think of Dad, how his absence still echoes in me now, and I wonder who else we’ve had to release into God’s arms. My heart trembles at the thought—have we buried our own children? If so, I’m so sorry, my friend. That pain, I know even now, would be the heaviest cross to bear. Yet, I trust you’ve carried it with the strength only God provides, His presence a balm to wounds too deep for words.

Everything I ponder is speculation, a whisper from this midpoint of life. But one thing I know, one thing I pray you still hold fast to as you read this: God is with us. He’s never left. I hope you feel Him now—alive, real, closer than your very breath. Better yet, I hope these last years have drawn you even nearer to Him, your soul leaning into His love as the veil between here and home grows thin. Keep remembering, sweet self, His unshakable commitment to us—through the laughter, the tears, the victories, and the shattering moments. And hold tight to that promise we made so long ago: to live every day with our eyes fixed on hearing Him say, “Well done, good and faithful servant. Welcome home.” That’s our True North, our guiding star. I love you, and we love Him, always.

With all my heart,
Us.

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Reflection

Writing this, tears slipped down my cheeks, and I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps it’s the weight of imagining a life so full, so fragile, so held by grace. In the end, I suspect no one will speak of the fleeting things—the titles, the possessions, the temporary triumphs. What will linger, what will matter, are the unseen threads that bind us: love, hope, faith, and the quiet nearness of God. These are the measures I pray define me, not just in my own eyes, but in the hearts of those I’ve touched and, most of all, before the One who sees me fully.

As a Christian, these values have propelled me forward—love that sacrifices, hope that endures, faith that trusts beyond sight. They’re my compass, my anchor, my song. Yet even if you, dear reader, don’t share my faith, I believe these ideals whisper to you too. Pause and reflect: How have you poured out love? How have you kindled hope? How have you walked in faith—however you define it? These are the echoes that will ripple beyond your years, the legacy that matters when time strips everything else away.

To greet our hundred-year-old selves with a quiet, “Good job, you’ve lived well, you’ve given well,” is a dream worth chasing. For me, it’s a life surrendered to God’s love. For you, it might be something beautifully your own. Either way, may we all run this race with hearts wide open, until we’re home.

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