My story has an unfinished ending, and parts of the plot, the thickest parts, are the hardest to leave hanging. I want to write the chapters myself, flip back pages: edit. I want to see what went wrong, and why. It’s so messy. And sad. I’ve cried over recent chapters behind closed doors more than anyone knows but Him, the Author.
And that’s why the story is unfinished. Because it’s His story. And that I get to play a role in it, however hard, or bittersweet-- may it be for His glory. Because one day there will be a last page where the questions end, and His face answers every question, [cs Lewis] and I desire that I will have played my part in His story well, a thread in His story which weaves into the great tapestry of His grace.
I don’t often talk about my story because it’s too personal. I don’t like to mention how much I love someone who doesn’t want to walk with God,-- who means the most of all to me. And it hasn’t always been so. It’s confusing to my children, and as much as I want to keep them from the pain of it, I see it pressing in a little more all the time. I keep this part of my life’s story held in tight to make it less real, but there are no advantages to living a lie, though the enemy gives me a long list of reasons otherwise. But this is my story. I don’t like to mention my struggle with seizures, and the medicine that makes me feel so slowed down that I have to work hard right now to just be me. I want to quit my medicine to lessen the side effects, to be a better mom…After all, I grew up with a sick parent, I don’t want to do that to my children, but that won’t really solve the problem. I get scared and frustrated because I can’t make it stop in my head. I don’t like to mention any of this, but it is my story. We just moved across country, my husband has a new job, we are starting from scratch. When we got here we had only a sofa and mattresses for furniture and knew no one. My husband travels and is gone a lot of the time, so the kids and I have had to be strong on our own. This is my story. Or at least this chapter. And why is any of it out loud? Because I’m not ashamed of it anymore. I didn’t do anything wrong to cause it as the enemy wanted me to believe for so long. It just is. And the Author of this story has a role for me to play, and He has strength enough for me to walk it out today, and when I turn the page, He’ll have strength enough for that page too.
I’ve faced great heart ache when judgment has preceded grace as others may have seen glimpses of my story. This Christ does not do. I’ve seen some view life as though their lack of trials was a result of their good behavior; therefore trials, mine or any ones were a result of sin. Here enters shame into my story. I don’t see evidence of God working this way. When He chooses us for different parts in His redemption story, it’s not based on our levels of goodness, or talent. We’re not casted on our behavior merit. He uses us as we are, and He uses what we are. He is the One who writes on our hearts. He created us. It is only by His grace my story is not yours, and your story is not mine, so how can we judge? Judging someone’s story is almost like shaming God for writing it.
And when I dwell too long on these hurts caused by others it does the same thing too. It shames the pain written into the story, that He wove onto the pages, for endings beyond the chapters I hold in my hand.
The problem with both, is this puts us at the center of the story, not him, and He is the Story.
We are deceived to think we control any part of this. What has happened, He’s allowed. Hearts hardened and softened-- He’s chosen. The timing-- He’s planned. It’s all part of His work prepared in advance, and work being carried out.
It's not our doing that changes the plot. It's His doing.
Lying about someone’s story hurts almost as much. Hearing their pain, and offering a lie in return, like, “I know everything is going to be okay,” is counter scriptural. And trite. Only God knows how our stories end. Truth is surrendering the pen. Truth is being able to live with whatever He writes. Truth is not a false: “It’s going to be okay,” because no one knows that. Lying about someone’s story discredits it, and assumes they haven’t prayed and cried and bent down on their knees.
When I hear your story and attempt to compare it to my story, it doesn’t help you either. My endings are not your endings. And I need to remember that. And I need to listen, and not be so quick to tell you about the happy ending written in my story, because that may not be the end of yours. I may just need to hold your hand and walk with you. I may just need to remind you of the Great Author we share. And that’s why we share stories, to remember Him, not remember ourselves, and that sometimes is what gets mixed up in the telling.
Unfinished stories are at least all promised one thing: an ending. And unanswered questions are promised an answer. For today, may I be as Mary, ready to be a handmaiden of the Lord in whatever part of His story He asks me to play.
And for today, may I be thankful that He is the Author, not me.
Ephesians 2:10 For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.
If we were to write…Fredrick Lehman says it best:
Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.
Together
in Grace,
Amy
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