And so, we come to the end of these 31 days.
These days of giving/finding/taking permission:
to disconnect,
to learn,
to lean,
to laugh,
to listen,
to lament,
to let loose,
to re-connect,
to sleep, perchance to dream,
to change,
to say no,
to take a break,
to see,
to be seen,
to read, read, read (1)
to dive in deep,
to remember,
to create,
to stop,
to dance,
to imagine,
to read, read, read (2)
to take a day off,
to get angry,
to be outrageous,
to breathe deeply,
to surrender,
to write a psalm,
to read, read, read (3)
to tell the truth,
and now,
TO TELL YOUR STORY.
Because, when it comes right down to it,
that’s our job on this planet:
to tell the story only we can tell.
To speak of the extraordinary ordinary,
to trace the ins and outs of
tedium,
wonder,
suffering,
learning,
unlearning,
wandering,
and being found.
Ah, yes.
That last piece,
that being found.
That unique way in which we link arms
with every other person,
across time and geography,
who has known the love of God.
Because no one else’s story looks like ours.
We know the same God,
we serve the same Savior,
but our stories are our own.
And they need to be told.
So. May I give you permission,
if you need it,
to speak out your life?
To tell the tales that show us the truth?
My own is long and full of twists and turns.
Yours is, too.
But there is a thread that connects them all,
a scarlet thread,
that shimmers in the light,
and whistles in the wind,
and takes every abuse we can hurl at it
as we struggle our way to maturity.
That Thread is strong beyond measure,
tensile, tough, unyielding
and yet so very forgiving.
Right now, the Scarlet Thread of my story
weaves its way along the central California coastline,
and these palm trees mark it out.
These long shadows help me know
who I am,
this mighty sea reminds me
of Whose I am.
And the people I love,
the neighbors I live with,
the work I do —
these are the hooks that hold me
in place and through which
this part of my story is being told.
What about you?
How is your story being told right now?