I went to a new church Wednesday night. I've been hoping to find a church "home" where I could plant roots and grow. The service that night was "not the usual" service, it was a special event, but I think God knew what He was doing when He put me on the path that lead me there.
That night there were people who were there to tell their story. Their testimony about how God had worked in their lives, their marriages, their homes to heal their brokenness. As they told their stories, I sat with tears streaming down my face. Yes, that was me, yes, that could have been me, yes, that was how I felt, yes, that was how things were.
In telling their stories, I could embrace mine. I could accept my brokenness and know that I needed to also be transparent in my story telling. That there was no reason for shame, no reason to hide, no reason to doubt. Because my story could be her story, or his story, or their story. Your story, his story, her story could be my story.
When we share those stories of brokenness and healing, we share hope. We share joy, we share love and laughter. We share our belief and our faith ... and our story becomes something that lifts up someone else to encourage them to share their story ... which just continues to spread those branches of healing ... from those roots that are planted in faith.
A story can be that salve of healing for someone ... that lets them know that they are not transparent ~ that they are seen and heard and loved ... no matter what has happened to them, no matter what they have done.
Your awe-inspiring deeds will be on every tongue;
I will proclaim your greatness.
Everyone will share the story of your wonderful goodness;
they will sing with joy about your righteousness.
The Lord is merciful and compassionate,
slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love.
~ Psalm 145:6-8 ~
|Five Minute Friday|