The Story Behind Right Now

You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift. 

 ― Erin Morgenstern

Was at a BBQ for church volunteers on Sunday evening when THE question came up. So, what's your story? Also known as How did you come to faith? I don't know why this question seems to catch me off-guard. I'm pretty much always mulling it over on some level-- after all, it's the lens through which I filter every experience. Still, whenever it comes up in conversation, I think uh-oh, they're about to get to know you a whole lot better. Are you ready for that? Are they? I also feel a little sorry for the person asking, because they have no idea what they're getting into. The answer to their question has become the driving force and purpose of my life. But it's not a neat little story designed for polite conversation. I pray it never is.   

Still, an honest question deserves an earnest response. So when my new friend E, a great guy I've met a couple times while serving in our church Welcome Center, asked the question as we waited in line for burgers and fruit salad, I took a deep breath and asked him if he was sure he wanted to know. Curiosity got the better of him immediately and as soon as we sat down with a few friends and our plates, he asked me again.

I took a deep breath and began. I told E about being an atheist for as long as I could remember and never understanding what the big deal was about God. I told him that after years of being an unsuccessful young person, I ran away (metaphorically) to Maine to finish my bachelor's degree, and where I worked as a reporter during the five years I lived there. In those days I figured academic and professional achievement would make me happy, so I chased a high GPA, became a top student in my program and secretly congratulated myself on covering local news stories where I got to hob-knob with the governor, town officials and state political figures. I told him about starting my master's program and having contacts in the writing field all lined up, how I'd been working on a book. Then it all fell apart--mostly because my hard work and thwarted attempts at romantic relationships didn't make me feel successful or happy. I went back to the destructive behaviors of my late teens & early twenties. Eventually, I left Maine, emotionally and financially bankrupt.

I told E about coming home to IL and how it was the right decision but didn't feel like it at the time. My poor family watched and tried to help me as I struggled for four more years. My life then felt insignificant and I thought I'd missed my chance to be somebody. I watched everybody around me seem to find success through careers and making money so I tried that next. Mostly, I worked a succession of bad jobs. Fortunately, God sent me two new creative outlets to get me through that time: photography and interior decorating.

Then I told E about meeting a man who I thought would turn everything around.  Someone finally thought I was special and wanted to love me & help me succeed at being a photographer. I moved with him to TX and for a few months we lived larger than life and had a great time. But in less than a year, we were broke and our relationship was broken. I admitted defeat and came home again. My relationship and life in TX taught me that nothing I could do--nothing material--could fill this insatiable need I had inside.

What I know now, is God was gently and quietly shutting the door on each thing I put between me and Him. It wasn't until I came home the 2nd time and began looking for a church to attend (the only place I seemed to feel at peace anymore was in a church), that I was finally open to the possibility there might be something to this God stuff. Maybe He wasn't just a figment of people's imagination like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny or monsters under the bed.

After trying a few churches, my aunt recommended visiting the church I now attend. I told E how I'd passed it many times and thought it looked like a great place but never had the courage to go in. When I finally did, the first service I attended was a water baptism. As a person who loves stories, hearing what these folks had been through and watching them get up on stage in front of hundreds of people to publicly declare their lives for Jesus was fascinating! Why would a person do that? What had happened to make them that fearless? The folks I met there were more alive, more openly loving than any place I'd ever been and I wanted that in my own life.

E thanked me for sharing and we talked about how we each had made the decision to give our lives to Christ (I will tell you that story another time). We talked about his recent re-commitment to his faith and the crazy-wonderful stuff God has been doing in our lives just over the last year. I concluded with a statement I use often but which is no less true each time I say it: if you'd told me 5 years ago that I would be where I am now, living for Christ, working for the Evangelism Pastor of a large church, I'd have said you were crazy. When several people laughed knowingly, I looked up and realized our audience had grown.

God used that moment to remind me when we get an opportunity to tell our story that we should always take it. We should tell the truth we know as well as possible because we never know who's listening or how our journey might affect theirs. That telling can bond our lives in a way we don't expect. It can also mark a moment for both the teller and the listener--not in the static telling of a flat, long-ago story, but instead marking the place where the chapters you've lived intersect with the chapters they've lived and with the chapter you're both living right now.    

This is our story to tell. You’d think for all the reading I do, I would have thought about this before, but I haven’t. I’ve never once thought about the interpretative, the story telling aspect of life, of my life. I always felt like I was in a story, yes, but not like I was the author of it, or like I had any say in its telling whatsoever. ― Jandy Nelson

Quotes courtesy of goodreads.com.