I believe each of us has a story to tell that someone else needs to hear. It's just that some of us take longer to find our voice than others. It took me sixty years.
When I retired from the practice of medicine to take up the life of a writer, I never imagined it would put me at odds with my faith. In fact, I gave God full credit for the good fortune that made it possible--a comfortable income, a fulfilling career, and a love of language. I plunged into writing with a head full of stories and essays, as well as a couple of full-fledged novels...none of them having anything to do with faith.
After thirty years in patient care, I gladly embraced the days of solitude and silence that writing required. That is, until the day the interruptions began. People started to show up, uninvited, on my doorstep.
The first to arrive was Robin who was eighteen years old when her younger brother died in her arms after someone broadsided the car she was driving. Next, Pat showed up. She explained how her gifted son lost his mind to a senseless college prank. She wept when she told me how she discovered his body in the woods behind her house on Easter Day, six months after he wandered off in the middle of the night. Then Maria stopped by to tell me how she dropped her only child off at school one ordinary day, and never saw her again.
that will break your heart.
And, if you're really paying attention,
Among the women who showed up were cancer survivors, widows, grieving mothers, and beleaguered caregivers--all of them heartbroken Christians who believed that faith in God was the one thing that got them through each day, despite what they'd been through. They didn't question God's plan for their lives. They didn't ask why he allowed them to suffer, where He was when they needed Him, or why He didn't answer their prayers. Instead, they clung to His promises like an anchor in a storm. It didn't take a miracle to convince them that God intended something better to rise out of the smoking ruins of their lives.
This didn't make sense to me. The contradictions between what I'd been taught to believe about a merciful and all-powerful God, and the defeats I witnessed in life, confused me. Too many times God was absent when I needed Him most, and prayer got me nowhere. I struggled with faith. I didn't think I could write about it. Truth be told, I didn't want to write about it.
But what is it they say? God works in mysterious ways. It started with an occasional nudge, then an impatient sigh, and finally a resounding command that dropped me to my knees.
"When," He roared, "are you going to write about me? About the people I invited into your life? About their faith, and what you learned from them?"
"I can't," I said. "It doesn't make sense to me."
"You must," He replied, when I think what He meant to say was, "Just wait. You will."
This went on for years. God coaxed me. I resisted. He encouraged me. I refused. The whole time, one by one, He brought people with broken hearts into my life until I finally figured out what He was trying to tell me. Until the vision finally formed. It emerged out of their stories of shared suffering and unshakable faith. It grew into a vision of courage and wisdom and hope.
I believe God gives each of us a story to tell that someone else needs to hear. If your own story is too painful, ask someone else to tell it for you. If you're the one who is called to be the storyteller, we are listening.
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