Remember February 10, 1994?

Ahhh, you probably don't. And until two days ago, I didn't either.

Two days ago, I looked up from my desk at work to see Ross walking in the door. {If you don't listen to WBCL, you should know that he's our Executive Director.} He had a broad smile on his face and he stopped in front of my desk and said, "Sometimes it's a good thing I'm a packrat."

I gave him a puzzled look and he held an envelope out to me. "From fifteen-year-old you," he said.

I took the envelope and glanced at the silvery return address label with a kitty cat sketch on the side and in calligraphy, the words, Miss Rebekah Freelan.

I pulled out a piece of neatly folded notebook paper and read the words I wrote in handwriting much better than my script of today:

Ross,
 
My name is Rebekah Freelan, and I am fifteen years old. I'm writing to tell you how much I enjoy listening to you on "P.M. Praise" on WBCL. 

My Dad, who produced "Sounds of Joy," as you may know, is having some physical and emotional difficulties. Sometimes, because of the problems, I don't like to be with my family, so I go in my room and turn on "P.M. Praise." It really helps me calm down, and think about God.

We have a new Christian radio station in Kokomo, but they mostly play programs in the evening, and very little music. That's why I listen to WBCL instead. The music is on right when I'm in my room wanting to listen to it. I never change my dial from your station, because I'm afraid I'll never find it again.

Once again, thank you for helping me get through this difficult time in my life.

Rebekah Freelan
Greentown, Indiana

I should back up and tell you {because I don't think I've ever talked about it on the blog} but when I was fifteen, my dad was injured taking a seat out of our van before a family vacation. I had asked him to take the seat out so I had more room for all my luggage. After the injury, he took a prescription which catapulted him into one of the most severe clinical depressions I've ever seen or heard about.

I could probably write a whole blog post on that time of my life - and maybe I will - but it was very challenging. Being home was hard, because the man in our house wasn't the dad I knew, and it killed me to see him like that. Beyond that, I blamed myself for everything, since the depression was caused by the medication he took for the injury he sustained while doing something for me.

{And all of that was what I condensed to "physical and emotional problems" in my letter.}

It was both embarrassing and delightful to encounter this letter twenty years later almost to the day. That girl, holed up in her bedroom listening to PM Praise with Ross McCampbell had no idea she'd one day work for him at that station.

While I don't remember writing the letter, I remember that season of life so well and I'm thankful God allowed me to have a brush with 15 year old Rebekah...and be reminded of just how much He has done in the last 20 years...and excited for what He'll do with the next 20!