In light of current tragedies and heartaches—wildfires, drought, floods, ongoing mass shootings, a dysfunctional government, farmers reeling over low prices and loss of sales because of tariffs, children separated from their parents—how can your memoir offer hope to people who so desperately need it?
At times like this, the following well-known tale takes on new relevance:
A shipwreck survivor, alone on a desert island, prayed for God to rescue him.
He built a hut and waited for God to answer.
Day after day, he prayed. But one day his hut burned to the ground.
Devastated, confused, he cried out, “Why didn’t God rescue me? Why did He let my hut burn down? Why? Why?”
The next day a ship arrived and rescued the man.
“How did you know I was here?" he asked the captain.
“We saw your smoke signal,” he answered.
Several years ago, Cavin Harper told that story on his blog at Christian Grandparenting Network. His perspective was spot-on for memoirists, whether writing for children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, or a broader audience.
Cavin wrote:
“Our grandchildren need to know
that no matter what may come,
God knows how to make smoke signals
and rescue us in our troubles.
How do you communicate words of hope
to your grandchildren in the face of tragedy
and senseless violence?”
As much as we long to live happily ever after, bad stuff happens to good people. Like Jesus said in John 16:33, “In this world you will have trouble.”
You’ve experienced your own shipwrecks and burned huts, haven’t you? Tragedies and sorrows, maybe even violence, crime, abuse. I’ve experienced my own heartaches, too, and somehow you and I survived.
Your readers long to triumph over their own shipwrecks and burned huts. What stories can you write to help them? What, specifically, was that “somehow” that led you to the other side of your tragedy?
One of my favorite Bible passages is Psalm 77 in which Asaph spoke of crying out to God. “When I cried out in distress, I sought the Lord; at night I stretched out my untiring hands and my soul refused to be comforted.” You’ve been there, right?
Poor Asaph said he was too troubled even to speak. I’ve been there, too.
Maybe you recall weeks or months or years when you, like Asaph, wondered, “Will the Lord . . . never show his favor again? Has his unfailing love vanished forever? Has his promise failed for all time? Has God forgotten to be merciful?”
You remember that desperation, don’t you?
Next comes the part I like best. Asaph says, “This is my anguish; But I will remember . . .” (v. 10, NKJV). “I will remember the works of the Lord.” He determined to remember.
The NIV Study Bible footnote points out that this was Asaph’s “Faith’s decision to look beyond the present troubles—and God’s bewildering inactivity—to draw help anew from God’s saving acts of old.”
That’s it! We hold on for dear life by remembering what God did in the past.
And, like Asaph, we make a deliberate decision to trust God’s faithfulness based on His previous faithfulness to us. We make a deliberate decision to believe that even if God seems mysteriously absent, He is working on our behalf.
Think back to a trying situation. Perhaps God seemed absent, but later you discovered He’d been busy arranging a way for you to survive. And you went on with your life, and it was good.
Asaph, in the next chapter of Psalms, writes:
“We will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, his power, and the wonders he has done . . . which he commanded our forefathers to teach their children, so the next generation would know them, even the children yet to be born, and they, in turn, would tell their children. Then they would put their trust in God. . .” (Psalm 78:4-7).
Isn’t that what our memoirs are all about?
Remember Cavin’s words:
“Our grandchildren need to know
that no matter what may come,
God knows how to make smoke signals
and rescue us in our troubles.
How do you communicate words of hope
to your grandchildren in the face of tragedy
and senseless violence?”
Write your stories!
Amen!
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