Voicing my story.
Life is so messy. So miraculous. So painful. So praiseworthy. So much grief, so much goodness. So much joy unearthed, even within the valleys of sorrow and suffering.
You see, There’s this unfolding story. This sacred raw story of Beauty rising out of the depths of pain. When you have the courage to honestly face the pain, let it move through you, and have the courage to voice it aloud, There’s this discovery. Not a fix. Or a cure but a balm. Balm in the truths that never change, truth that reveals light. It doesn’t happen all at once. Sometimes…it’s just a glimpse like the first crack of a morning’s dawning. Sometimes that’s all we have while still in the depths of all the hard and terrible midnight. You find yourself in the middle of a story that feels absolutely NOT ok.
Sometimes, in the hell of the night, All you have is a promise that’s woven through the pages of this hard confusing chapter. A promise that you can’t touch or feel but it’s a lot like distant shining stars. It’s a golden lit-up thread hanging against a night sky, holding all the joy, all the sorrow, all the tears, all the smiles. Lighting the way through a wilderness. Each step forward matters. Each stumble matter. Each chapter matters. Each page matters. Each is held together in a story of restoration, even while you feel like you are falling apart.
The sacred story testifies to a redeeming and loving God that sees. That knows. That is not done. My story is special, unique. Not because of me, it’s special because my God is the author and He writes His unique story on each of our hearts to show His light. We are all walking around wearing His fingerprints. I just want to record it down and let others see How real He is. How much He loves us even in our mess. How fiercely He reaches for us down in the valley.
My story matters. Your story matters. Even when it doesn’t make sense. It matters.
I want to write from the middle of the mess, not when it’s all tied up In a pretty shiny bow. That bow won’t Happen until heaven and it’ll be too late to record it then. Now I’ll write, when it’s a mess. Because there’s light that’s shared when you write of hope seen from the valley of sorrow.
So, I’ve been writing my story down. Wrestling, waiting, wailing and writing. Letting God hold the pen. It’s a hard surrender. When you surrender to a story you didn’t choose. It can be a deep stinging grief to embrace your own hard story. It takes a whole lot of brave To let HOPE sing the louder song back to you in the midst of sorrow.
I don’t feel able, but it’s a walk of faith and trust. I’m called to share. It will be written and recorded, to be passed as a legacy for my children’s children. So they know light in darkness. So they know hope in the valley. So they know that we can trust a God who unconditionally loves us and carries us and never leaves or forsakes us even as we beat on His chest. And as they read the words, I hope that they understand that the unpolished language of lament is how we are invited to come and converse and be cradled.
God knows we are not ok with this pain and brokenness in our stories and He is not either. That’s why He gave us the cross and the cross Is messy, broken and bruised and acquainted with all our suffering. But if we don’t come to the cross and hold the story and courageously stare down the pain, and let God sing back a louder song of hope then we will miss the rising beauty. We will miss the goodness that hunts us down.
When i lean into the author, and let Him hold my broken pieces, I’m more able to surrender to the story even when it hurts like hell and doesn’t make sense. Because I know how it will end, His promise is truth that lights up the darkness.
There is victory in His voice, the Voice of truth. #liveGiagrowforever#weallhaveastory #thevoiceofTruth
