Tell Me My Story

In my first semester of college, I took a class on evangelism.  One of our early assignments was to write out our testimonies and share them with the class.  I cannot begin to tell you how difficult this was for me.  At the time, I had not been through anything incredibly tragic in life.  I had suffered some very harsh and painful realities of the Church as a pastor’s daughter, but outside of that, I pretty much enjoyed a Brady Bunch life.  At 18 years old, I had never tried drugs, drank alcohol, smoked a cigarette, been abused, been sexually promiscuous, cut myself, survived a car crash, stood up on a cafeteria table and witnessed at my school or led people on a crashing plane through the sinner’s prayer.  I was just...ordinary.  There was nothing stellar to share; nothing exciting, nothing that said, “Wow!  She’s amazing!  Look at what God has done!”  I was just... me.  

I remember sitting in my dorm room one night, staring at a blank computer screen, feeling like an idiot that I could not think of one thing to share in my testimony.  I had loved God my whole life, and when it was my turn to stand up and say, “This is who Jesus is to me,” all I could think of was the cool stories I had heard about who He was to everyone else.  Instead of appreciating all that Jesus had been to me for 18 years, I started comparing myself to other people.  The truth is, by comparing myself, I wasn’t devaluing me, I was devaluing Him.  I was the clay screaming at the Potter, “Why did You make me like this?”

God taught me a lot as I did that homework assignment.  I remember a very specific moment when finally, frustrated, I dropped my hands, sighed, leaned back and said,

“Help me.  I need You to tell me my story.”  

That night I asked God to tell me my story, and He did.  I had grown so accustomed to a life with Jesus that I had never imagined what my life would be without Him.  He reminded me of my family history; that my grandpa and uncle had both been abusive alcoholics.  He reminded me that my dad was on the road to alcoholism as well; that he and my mom were separated with divorce papers in hand long before I was born.  He reminded me of how He saved their marriage, restored our family and blessed me with a loving, happy home.  He reminded me of the many times we moved in ministry, but He was still with me.  He reminded me of the extreme poverty and suffering I had witnessed around the U.S. and in other countries, only to discover that He was present in those places too.  He reminded me of the disillusionment I had experienced in church; how He taught me to love and forgive in the face of disappointment and betrayal.  He reminded me that despite highs or lows, I love Him.  I enjoy Him.  I want Him.  That life apart from Him holds nothing for me. He reminded me that this is my story - our story - and that His name is embedded on every page.  

What started out as one of the most agonizing assignments I’ve ever had, became a marked moment in my life.  What I didn’t know then was that my story was about to get incredibly interesting, more interesting than I would like, but whether boring or thrilling, Jesus was with me, and that was really the point all along.  It was through that assignment that I was challenged at a young age to beware comparisons that tempt me to reflect the image of other people rather than the image of God.  I was moved to find Him in my own story in some way, at every turn, because undeniably, He is there, still with me...always, still with me.

That night, I asked God to tell me my story, and He did...and He has been ever since.  

Every day it's as if He wakes me up with the stroke of a pen and a whisper: "What shall we write about today?"  

And that is the story of why I love to write.

"My history...is a celebration of His faithfulness." - Brennan Manning