Bind up these broken bones; mercy bend, and bring me back to life. But not before You show me how to die.

R-Dougs; Dougie,

I got news for you.  This letter’s going public.

When you’re strong,
you fight.
When you’re strong,
you cry words of silence
and never shed a tear.
You find all the ways
to make your heart
make sense,
and you hold your arms out
to everyone around you
to keep them all away--
when you’re strong.

You protect and
you provide
your own shelter;
you choose where
to lie down.
When you’re strong
you mask the ways
that could make you weak.
In defeat, you
claim a victory;
You Win.

When you’re strong
you’re never wrong,
you never hit rock bottom;
you talk until
your mouth runs dry
and you never
say a thing.

When you’re strong,
you don’t remember how
to be weak.
You forget the things
that make you feel,
and all the things you
Fight For
don’t even matter.

When you’re strong,
you mistake yourself
for bold too often,
and smudge the lines
between courage and fear.

And you go to bed
alone,
tracing moonlight in the blankets,
counting memories,
holding on to the things
you didn’t know were yours,
holding white flags in the air
[these bed sheets calling out
surrender]--
when you’re strong.

You have inspired me. 
I don’t like to make promises I can’t keep.
But I also try not to say things I don’t mean.
I love you, Dougie. 
Praise our God in Heaven that He is not contained by time; He’s changed me, awakened fear and hurt and in that, passion and thirst—because of you.  Because of a semester. 
And I’m sorry if I can’t show that to you.  I want you to know that you have done your job here; He’s done His job with you here. 
I want you to know that just because I’ve got a whole lot of pride and bitterness, that doesn’t make you a failure. 
I am proud of you. 
I am amazed by you.
I am encouraged by you.
I am challenged by you.
I’ve learned a lot through your strength, and your faith in our God.

Go change lives, Dougs.  Go walk in the strength He gives you.
He’s got big plans for you; I can feel it.

Take your story to Colorado, and remember that it isn’t yours to keep.  That story is His living testimony.  Spread it like a fire.

P.S. I am also sorry I can’t let myself cry in front of you.  I’ll have you know, I just cried like a little girl.  While lying on my dorm hall floor writing this out.  Pride broken.

Mad love, Lady.

By the undeserved grace of a God so good in His love (and timing).
Jane Doe.