It can be hard to tell a story. Finding the right words seems like an impossible task when the very thing you are trying to describe is beyond words. Limited language only takes you so far. Stories are still important. In letters and sentences we find connection. We reach beyond the typed characters to the heart of anyone reading these words. Simple lines that change the world.
I have always believed in the power of storytelling. From a young age I was drawn to movies and books. To art and music. A thousand ways to say a single message and each of them so breathtakingly beautiful.
My first attempts at storytelling were based on what I already knew. I created new characters who looked frighteningly similar to those published in the media I consumed. My siblings teased me for it, but it didn’t bother me. There was something lovely in those stories and with my clumsy hands I was trying to pull those threads into something new. All I wanted was to keep those sparks alive.
As I grew, my storytelling did, too. I continued to dance around the characters I saw or read, but the stories I wanted to write changed. I was no longer focused on dashing knights or grand romances. I did not want an apocalypse or unnecessary violence. I wanted smaller things. Simpler things. Truer things.
And one truth is this: I did not always believe in myself.
People have told me that I have a talent; that I can weave words into a story that is both stunning and true. I wrote a poem once, in the time it took my family to drive across town. When I shared it they were amazed, and yes, I could not help or even attempt to stop that brief flicker of pride, yet that poem has crossed words and question marks. To me it was not finished, not perfect.
One of my favorite songs says this: “What if who I hope to be was always me? And the love I fought to feel was always free? What if all the things I’ve done, were just attempts at earning love? ‘Cause the hole inside my heart is stupid deep” (“Stupid Deep” Jon Bellion).
The first time I heard that song, I cried. I wept bitterly in my college dorm because somehow, without me even realizing it, God was reaching out to me in those lyrics. He was showing me peace, and healing, and love, when I did not know I needed it. I thought I was fine. I thought I was better than I once was. I thought I understood God’s love. It is hard, sometimes, to see love when all we see of ourselves is our brokenness.
I love stories. With all my heart, I believe in the power of words. They unite us. Inspire us. Words may not change hearts in an instant, but they open the door. A story is an invitation to see the world in a way you have never seen it before.
In our world it can be so easy to become numb to God’s love. It is everywhere, and that means no matter where we go, we are seeing evidence of the beauty of Christ’s love. Our entire lives are through His sacrifice and the forgiveness and grace we all receive. But even though I live in a universe that is a testament to God’s love, sometimes it just…becomes another part of my daily schedule. Stuck between the busyness of work, and the struggles of my life, it is a meeting I forget to have until I am already five minutes late.
Stories invite us to pause. They are a hand, reaching out and saying, “Wait. Look around you. Can you feel that? Do you see it? This is love. This is God’s love.”
Everyday I am grateful. God guided me to storytelling; showed me the beauty of words. When I look at media I do not see a world born of hate. I see people. I see them struggle. I see society trying to find the answers to questions they do not even know they have.
God led me to storytelling so I could reach out across the paper, grab someone’s hands, and say, “Wait. Look at this world. Do you see how much God loves you? How wonderful is that?”
