Tell the story.
Tell your story.
For far too long I’ve known it was time to tell my story.
There’s a story to share, because by God’s grace, I am not where I was. There’s a story to tell because He has redeemed and restored me.
I need to share my story. But beyond that, I’m called to do so. I’ve resisted for one reason or another. But most of the reasons ultimately come back to living my life for the betterment of an organization, versus my larger purpose on this earth.
In recent months, the why I’m here on this earth has crystallized and yet even still, I’m working my way through the details. But I do know that I need to tell my story.
Years ago I heard Anne Marie Miller (aka Anne Jackson) speak at a church. She talked about how there may be times in our lives where we’re called to give the gift of going first.
What does that mean? It means that we might need to tell our own story so others know there is hope, healing, freedom, etc. We may need to go first so they feel free to seek help, healing, and take a chance on hope.
I knew before that evening in Corona, California, that I needed to go first. Listening to Anne confirmed it.
And then life happened. I made choice after choice after choice that put me at odds with that calling. I put everything in front of my faith and the calling on my life.
The organization that deposits a paycheck in my checking account every two weeks, won. What I was being called to do by the God that chases me down, did not.
But in recent times, I’ve grown more and more certain that God is asking me to leave this old way of life, behind.
I’ve become more certain that telling my story is what He’s asking of me.
And yet, I’ve still held back.
After some of the hardest weeks and months of my life in 2016-2017, in which I lived in fear, some of the worst anxiety I’ve ever experienced, and my heart was broken (so very badly), I knew something had to change. And I knew I had to tell my story.
But I’ve still held back, ya’ll. I have such a hard head. Tell me I’m not the only one…
Fast forward to tonight. Our worship team at church somehow picked the exact songs I needed tonight. The words, as I sang them, were prayers, commitments, and reminders of the God that chases me down and is owed all of my life – every part of it – to include my story.
I didn’t notice our worship pastor’s shirt until the service was almost over and we were singing the last song (Do It Again).
It has been a favorite worship song for a while. But as the song started, I saw George’s shirt. White letters on black, “Tell the story” it said.
I smiled big.
You may think it’s a coincidence. You may not think it’s a sign. You may deny that there’s a message there for me or anyone else. But I know, like I know today is Saturday, that God could (and did) use a black t-shirt to slap me upside the face.
Do you know how many times this week I’ve begun this post? Not about a song or t-shirt but about “telling the story?” I’ve started this countless times but stopped myself every time.
So no. It’s not a coincidence.
Tell the story.
In my heart of hearts, I think we all know what our calling in life is. I think you know, yours. I know mine. I may not always know what that looks like or how the pieces will come together, but I know, that I know, that I know.
My friends – I’ve got some writing to do. Non-fiction…a devotional, a book about how the trauma of my childhood has impacted my entire life (but isn’t the end of the story because of God’s grace). I may have some other stuff to write, too.
Tell the story.
I’m going to tell the story.
