Devastating
situations can knock the air out of us. Bring us to our knees.
Sometimes we cause
our own tragedies, other times we’re innocent victims of someone else’s choices
and actions. And sometimes heartbreaks are part of life—like the death of a
loved one.
Sometimes we are so
broken, so helpless, we can’t do anything but fling ourselves into God’s arms and
hold on.
And there, within
that place of crisis, we discover that during our most painful times we learn
our most important lessons.
Sorrows can wrench
us out of places we should never have wandered: Anguish can break down our
stubbornness and make us willing, finally, to embrace a holy discontent with
things that are not right in our lives.
A crisis can force
us to get serious about God and His forgiveness and grace—and about our need to
forgive and extend grace to others.
Devastation can shake
us by the shoulders and convince us that God is worthy of all we are and all we
have—that He is Number One.
In that way, our
brokenness can lead to our wholeness: Heartbreaks can be the stuff of turning
points and second chances. Personal disasters can lead to personal victories.
Some of you have been
there. You messed up. Or maybe someone else messed up and left you devastated. Shattered.
But you survived. Your broken self
healed—by God’s grace. You’re living in a new chapter of your life.
God has given you a
new song to sing (Psalm 40:1-3).
He has given you
beauty in place of ashes, gladness in place of mourning (Isaiah 61:3).
He has restored places
long devastated (Isaiah 61:4).
He has turned your weeping
into songs of joy (Psalm 126:5-6).
You need to write
your story because
someone needs to
hear that you got through your disaster.
Someone needs to
know that you are living a new and better life.
Not just that you
got a new life—but how you got there.
How did you and God,
together, get you to this new place?
Someone, sometime,
will read your memoir—someone searching for answers, someone reeling in the
midst of his or her own anguish, longing to turn a corner, desperate to receive
a second chance, eager to leave the former life behind and make a fresh start. God
can use your story to help answer their prayers, give them hope, and someone
(you, through your memoir) to walk alongside them toward the other side.
In that way, you—just
an ordinary person—can be a “messenger of the Most High.”
“And so we
understand that ordinary people are messengers of the Most High,” writes
Lawrence Kushner. “They go about their tasks in holy anonymity. Often, even
unknown to themselves. Yet, if they had not been there, if they had not said
what they said or did what they did, it would not be the way it is now. We
would not be the way we are now. Never forget that you, too, may be a messenger.
Perhaps even one whose errand extends over several lifetimes.” (Lawrence Kushner, Eyes Remade for Wonder, emphasis mine)
Read those last two
sentences again with your memoir in mind: “Never forget that you, too, may be a
messenger. Perhaps even one whose errand extends over several lifetimes.”
How can your stories
extend over several lifetimes? By putting them in writing, making copies, and
making sure your family knows they have copies—on a shelf somewhere, or in a
box in the basement. They might not read your memoir in your lifetime, but
someday, someone will read it.
Trust God—
He has given you a
high calling.
Not so much because
of who you are,
Commit your stories
to Him,
believing He will
use them to bless your readers.
“Your struggle to
share your struggle changes the world.”
Mick Silva, Higher Purpose Writers
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