For instance, if you followed my journey to Africa and back this summer you would notice that I stopped blogging after the first half of my trip. There were/are 5 more days worth of stories that I never told in this space. Stories of encouragement, new spiritual life, salvation and my own personal spiritual growth. Stories with names and faces. Stories that, though I hold them dear in my heart, I would love to share them with you. But, life happened, I didn't carve out time to make it happen and so the stories remain untold to this point.
The reality of stories though is that they are always being written. My niece Deborah is quite the prolific writer. She wrote over 100,000 words for NaNoWriMo in November and is still writing and creating more stories. Creativity abounds in her mind and she is letting her fingers do the talking.
And then there is my sister. She is traveling to Moldova (is that even a country? yep!) to learn and tell the stories of girls and young women who have been victims of sex trafficking. These terribly difficult and dark stories need to be told in hopes that the stories yet to come can be stories of freedom, of redemption, of hope.
Stories matter. Yours. Mine. All people. Everywhere. Personally, I am still learning to quiet my life enough to hear other people's stories. So often the noise and preoccupation with my own story distracts me from truly listening to another. That's a part of my story that God is working on with me and in me.
But the truth I love most about stories is that there is One who always knows them. Yours. Mine. All people. Everywhere. He knows intimately. He loves fiercely. He saves thoroughly. He is our Creator and He is the Master Storyteller.
He doesn't need to read my blog. I don't even have to write it down for Him to know. But, for all my stories, those that remain untold and those yet to come, I desire that it be His pen with which He writes. That it be His story that is written in and through my life. I don't want the title of chief editor. I don't want my name on the cover. All I want is His story. To hear it. To taste it. To live it. His story. His eternal and glorious story. May He be the author and perfecter of my story and life. May I live to tell of His story to those around me.
I love to tell the story of unseen things above, of Jesus and his glory, of Jesus and his love. I love to tell the story, because I know 'tis true; it satisfies my longings as nothing else can do. I love to tell the story, 'twill be my theme in glory, to tell the old, old story of Jesus and his love. I love to tell the story; 'tis pleasant to repeat what seems, each time I tell it, more wonderfully sweet. I love to tell the story, for some have never heard the message of salvation from God's own holy Word. I love to tell the story, for those who know it best seem hungering and thirsting to hear it like the rest. And when, in scenes of glory, I sing the new, new song, 'twill be the old, old story that I have loved so long.