Protected: Exploring Your Story through the Lens of God’s Story
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Did you know that you can now listen to Living Story in your car, while you work out, or even while you clean the kitchen (doesn’t that make kitchen-cleaning sound more fun :-)?!))???
As you may or may not know, I’ve been on a team teaching some lessons at the local jail and work-release center. I love introducing women who sometimes have very little biblical knowledge to the TRUE STORY of the Bible. I want them to see what I want myself and all of us to see – the God who wrote the story of redemption and grace is at work now, this very day, in our very lives.
This is the stuff that life (not just dreams) is made of…Living the story of freedom in Christ.
So if I love sharing these stories with women who have lost their freedom in the world, why wouldn’t I love sharing these stories with all of us who struggle to live the story of freedom in Christ?
I decided I would, once a month, begin telling these stories so people could listen. If there’s one thing the world needs now, it’s to fall in love with the TRUE STORY of the Bible all over again.
I know some of my readers who are techno-wizards, and others aren’t, so here’s a quick tutorial on how to listen:
There are several ways to listen:
Oh, and one last thing. If you like this project and you know people who would benefit from listening to TRUE BIBLE STORIES that help them live their stories to God’s glory, please spread the word by sharing!
This past week, I had the great privilege of leading the worship lesson at the jail. I returned to a favorite Bible story of mine. Since I thought you all might enjoy listening as you drive — to somewhere fun for the Fourth, or just around town, I decided to create a podcast.
In this wild and true Bible story from Genesis 16, we meet 3 people making a crazy mess of things as they try to go their own way. We also see the compassionate, merciful, powerful God intervening in their lives to restore and re-story them. Listen and learn three words to help you go in the right direction.
True confession time. I have mixed feelings about wishing people happy birthday on Facebook. I mean, sometimes I have never met the “friend,” and I can’t think of anything to say beyond the traditional Happy Birthday greeting, with an occasional variation to Feliz Cumpleanos (but then I can’t get the computer to do that little mark over the n, which I think is called an “en-yay” but then autocorrect turns that into “Enya” which is not at all what I’m after ;-)!!!!
Anyway. It’s not that I don’t think about wishing you a happy birthday on Facebook. Some days I agonize over it; other times I just say, “No, they don’t want to read my contribution,” and many times I’m just too busy. Other times I want to write a personal note, hey- even a card – but then I never get around to it…
I just had a birthday. First, I want to say – for those of my Facebook friends who did not write on my wall – I completely understand (see above! 🙂 )!
But, this year, as so often happens, these lovely postings from…
reminded me. Reminded me of the great cloud of witnesses that lives this story with me….
I could go on and on…
These postings, cards, texts and toasts from dear friends and family…it is like watching a really good movie trailer…the Spirit parading before me the strange and wonderful characters God has written into my life. They are the Living-Stories-of-Grace God has gifted me.
The writer of Hebrews writes about the community of faith,
“Therefore since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off the sin which easily entangles us and run with endurance the race set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the Cross, despising the shame, and now sits at the right hand of the throne of God.” Hebrews 12:1-2
The author has in Chapter 11, listed “heroes of faith,” whose stories, if you know some of them, do not exhibit perfect records of faithfulness (think Abraham and Sarah:-). What they do exhibit is God’s perfect faithfulness to them, despite their sometimes wildly erratic record. We run well in the company of others who know our only real hope for faithfulness comes from fixing our eyes together on the only perfectly faithful one – Jesus.
Scotty Smith and Steven Curtis Chapman, in their wonderful book, Restoring Broken Things, write about being “characters and carriers of the gospel.”
God is telling an authentic, non-spin story of selfish, broken people, who are in the process of being made new by Jesus. That’s why Jesus has the lead role in God’s Story. But He’s not the only character. He’s making us characters too. We are carriers of God’s Story – targets for hope who’ll serve as agents of hope, and candidates of mercy who’ll live as conduits of mercy. Jesus is bringing restoration to broken individuals as a means of bringing healing to other individuals, families, communities, and ultimately, to the whole universe.
Here’s the thing – the Christian life is not a solo journey. As I thumb through the catalog of characters who wished me well on my birthday, I remember. I remember the best of times and the worst of times. I remember agents of hope who conducted the mercy of God in my life. I remember God’s marvelous stories of redemption and the people he used in writing them.
Who are the characters and carriers of the gospel in your life?
Why not write their names down or say them aloud and thank God for them.
Or share a little about them in the comments, then send them a link:-)!
Better yet, write them a note telling them a story of how they conducted mercy to you.
Header Photo Courtesy of Reina Cookies — best cookie ever, and my birthday cake of choice!
Tuesday I told the first part of a “story of humiliation.” Here, the story continues, and I show you how it changed.
Now I felt really stupid. I know the better word for my feeling was “shame,” but “stupid” reverberated. Being the wordophile I am, I began mentally rehearsing all the words or phrases that described my desire to disappear…I wanted to… “vanish from the face of the earth,” “sink through the floor,” “shrink away to nothing….”
I fought back the tears I had not really had a chance to weep about my father’s cancer, and I truly feared I might have to run to keep from vomiting my sadness right there on the table in front of these women who (I felt) didn’t want to know me.
Time slowed down. Have you ever had this happen? I’m guessing my season of hot shame and fear lasted maybe – 5-7 minutes?? Maybe less. But it felt like being in a movie played in half-time.
Eventually. Somehow. I really can’t remember, I entered the conversation of the women on my left, who were quite welcoming and friendly once they realized I was alone. As we conversed, I occasionally felt remainders of shame lingering on my skin, like thinking you’ve cleaned a mess up but missed some spots.
BUT/AND… I was able to enjoy these delightful women, who all happened to be in a similar age and stage of life as me – which was cool, because we were definitely in the minority:-)!
Here’s the good news: those 5 awful minutes did not kill the whole weekend. In days past, it could have. I could have just hunkered down in shame, crawled inside myself, either metaphorically, or literally, remaining in my room much of the time.
Instead, I continued to reach out and risk introducing myself. In the six meals remaining, I met wild and wonderful women writing for the sake of glory in vastly different arenas – single moms, moms of four little ones, a musician with my same last name (which is rare!), even a woman whose father-in-law had received the same diagnosis as my dad.
After the meal, I checked my phone (yes, that would have been an easy default during the terrible moments, but I didn’t go there ;-). My youngest son had texted me, asking how it was going. I responded with a short paragraph describing the “middle school cafeteria experience.” His brief response wrapped kind words around the hurting place in my heart:
“I’m so sorry, Mom. That’s the worst. I know how that feels.”
“I know how that feels.” Empathy. The word breaks down like this:
em – in
path – pathos – feeling or suffering.
We desperately need others to feel with us.
I’ll be honest. After I posted Part 1 of this story yesterday, I struggled with doubts…will this be misread? Will people think I’m playing the victim? Will people think I’m overthinking this?
But through the day, tweets, texts, and emails came in that affirmed – many of you needed to hear this story – to know you’re not alone. And you let me know I was not alone. Empathy.
I didn’t have long writing time at the conference, but I took 15 minutes that night and the following day.
I wrote my story as a prayer to God.
Expressing my pain… “Ouch. That hurt. Where were you?” (Even as I sat at the table that night, the Holy Spirit brought to mind these words…”He was despised and rejected…” When we struggle with shame, it is good to know that the one who experienced the deepest shame is right there with us! Right? Isn’t that amazing?!!
Asking God to search me and reveal my heart (Ps. 51)…
What sin might I have brought to the table – or left with?
I recognized the danger that I would judge the women who seemingly snubbed me. It would have been easy to go to self-righteousness, to say, “I would NEVER do that to someone.” But then I had to ask, “But have I done that?” and know the answer is probably “yes.”
Asking, seeking, knocking about the uncertainty… “God, it seems like your answer to prayers was sort of the exact opposite of what I prayed. What’s up with that?” I still don’t know for sure, but I have some ideas.
Settling in some certainty…There are things I know to be true – because the Bible tells me so.
We follow a trustworthy God. He is working in all stories to bring about his redemption – in the world, in his people, in our circumstances.
I remember this certainty, my favorite verse, which fills me with great hope.
Dear friends, we are already children of God. But he has not yet shown us what we will be like when he appears. But we do know that we will be like him, for we will see him as he really is.” 1 John 3:2
This past week, I had the great pleasure of gathering with around 400 other women bloggers at the Allume conference. When asked what I blog about, I said something like this:
The Living Story blog helps people learn how God has written his story of grace into the cosmos and into our lives and helps them live in that story.
Today, I’m going to share a hard story, a story of feeling humiliated.
Here’s what I don’t want to happen with this:
Here’s what I hope will happen:
Here’s why:
With that background, here is Part 1. (This is going to be like one of those serial short stories in the newspapers of old — but don’t worry, you’ll get the next installment within two days! (Make sure you’ve subscribed to the blog if you want to receive it in your inbox!).
It had been a rough two weeks, the kind of weeks that you have to remind yourself will make a really good story one day, except in some ways, receiving a dread diagnosis about your Dad’s cancer doesn’t at first seem like it will ever be a really good story one day. But healthcare was done for the week, so I decided to head on to the Allume conference, which I had signed up for months ago.
To understand this story, you have to know I’m an introvert. It’s surprising to some, especially since I’m a leader and a teacher. Plus, I really enjoy meeting new people and getting to know their stories.
But I can only do so much before I’m drained. I draw energy from being alone or in a small group of close friends. I am easily over stimulated by lots of noise and activity. So conferences can be challenging, especially when I don’t know anyone there.
That was the case at the Allume conference, so I asked some friends and family to pray particularly for me to be bold and outgoing.
After a 7-hour drive and a stop at Whole Foods, I made it to the hotel, schlepped my stuff to my room, and spent some time looking through the plentiful swag bag. At 5 till 6, I headed downstairs, where to reach the main ballroom, I had to make my way through a hallway crowded with chattering women and tables spilling over with brightly colored jewels, hundreds of books, shoes, clothes and other merch. (This would be my friend Marcia’s dream scene, but you might guess it was a little daunting for me:-)!)
The expansive main ballroom was filled with lovingly decorated round tables for nine. Taking a deep breath and asking God one more time to help me, I entered, searching for a spot.
My strategy was to find a person or people who looked like they might be “strangers,” “outsiders,” or at the very least, different from me. One thing I have learned about my introversion is that I’m not alone, and reaching out to others helps me get over my own self-consciousness.
I spotted a table where four women were already seated and asked if I could join them. One woman looked at me and nodded non-committedly, but quickly turned back to talk with her friend. The woman seated on my right rose as I sat, leaving to talk to a long-lost friend. The fourth woman was far across the table from me and blocked by a centerpiece. So there I was. Just sitting there with my food, feeling …extremely…awkward.
A few minutes later, three other women joined the table, leaving the spot to my left open (I think they assumed I might have a friend joining me). They turned inward toward one another, continuing a lively conversation.
Because this is a blog, I’m going to share a diagram with you of what the table looked like, but I’m going to try to describe in words what I felt like.
I sat in the middle of a large table, with women all around me. The seats on either side of me were empty. Three women to my right were talking earnestly to one another, and three women to my left were chatting away happily.
I keenly felt my aloneness – literally isolated in a teeming sea of fellow women. But I was still hopeful – I figured eventually someone would sit next to me on the left, and the woman on my right would return, so this awful moment wouldn’t last forever.
In fact, the woman to my right did return, but she scooched her chair closer to her friends, distancing herself from me. And when a woman came to sit on my left, it was clear she actually wanted to sit in my place, next to her friend on my right.
Thunk! That was the sound of my heart landing in my stomach.
Now I felt really stupid.
And yes, I’m breaking the story here, because statistics (which I learned at the fabulous conference!) tell me that 900 words is more than most people will read, and we are a little past that. Stay tuned till tomorrow for the “rest of the story,” and some more help writing your stories. Be sure to subscribe if you haven’t already!