An excerpt from my secret journal...

If you know me well, you know I don't write unless I need to. It's my outlet. Tonight, I was going through my old journals and found this. If we were friends then, you walked through this with me. If we weren't friends, welcome to my story. I pray this is refreshing to someone and maybe a turning point in someone's story. Here it is...unedited.  And to my 22-year-old self, thanks for continuing to trust. The story got so so so much better...

9:15am Silent Retreat room March 28, 2009

My life is a story. If I were the author, then there would be different characters, conflicts, plots, and resolutions. When I awake in the morning, I know not what my day will hold; who I will meet, what I will see, what events I will encounter. I know not why certain things happen or if they will happen again. I am not the author. It’s not my story.

I don’t know why I have desires in me. I don’t know why I was born where I was. Don’t know why I have the parents I do. Don’t know why my body is the way it is. Don’t know why my voice sounds the way it does or why my sense perceive things they was they do. Don’t know why I desire to teach to inspire. Don’t know why I like certain things and why I hate others. Don’t know why I am sick sometimes and healthy other times. It’s not my story.

I don’t know how or why, but I know this story is about something greater. I realize that my story plays apart of a bigger story. I can only see the pieces of this story. I can only hear pieces. Taste pieces. Smell pieces. Touch pieces. Yet there is still a greater story.

For a long time, I believed this story I am apart of was my story. I made the choices, picked the characters, created the conflict, and designed the resolution. It was a coll evening in March when I realized this was not my story.

Why would I pick for my family to be ripped to shreds? Why would I choose pain?

It was not my story. The story I played a part in was now a story of devastation, loneliness, anger, resentment, betrayal, disappointment, fear, inadequacy, loss of color, despair, ruins, hurt, desperateness, darkness, confinement, baggage, hopelessness, ashes, confusion, nightmares, responsibility, constant headaches, apathy, imprisonment, and all the bad things.

It was then that I realized it wasn’t my story. When I reached a low I never knew existed, I began to ask, ”Who is writing this?” More and more painful questions began to rise to the surface with answers refusing to accompany them. Someone else must be in control here. While I’m struggling to breathe, can’t sleep at all, crying all day, and filled with painstaking anger, I realize life is not what I thought it was. But this is the story I find myself in. Rob Bell says, ”You don’t have to like your story, but you must claim it…for it’s yours.”

I had no choice but to walk through the fire. But I didn’t have to claim it. Didn’t have to hare it. Didn’t have to be proud of it. I just had to make it out alive. It was here that I died to myself. I would like to say it was a conscious choice; that I had this amazing time of humbling myself and trusting Him. But it wasn’t that way.
When I couldn’t get out of bed, when my face was swollen from crying myself to sleep, when my body was drenched in sweat from total exhaustion, when my clothes were filthy, when my grades were suffering, when my head was throbbing, when my entire face was tense, when my body kept experiencing panic attacks, when my hair was matted, when all I could do was hide under the covers, when I became another statistic, when I couldn’t’ escape the pain, when Satan rocked me in his arms and shouted at me, when I couldn’t keep food down, when time was at a standstill, when nothing made sense, when my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, JESUS HELD ME.

And when I had no other choice, I continued to die to myself. And he continued to write and write and write. And I began to realize there is so much more than myself. That it is not my story. And it is here that I continue to live. I am apart of something grater, and I will walk through the hours, days, months, and years expecting to be surprised. Because He is good. Always.

He is Living Water, Eternal, Faithful, Breath of God, Relational, Savior, Mighty to Save, High King, The Shepard, Magnificent, My Rescue, My Holy Mountain, Strong, Calm, Divine, My Answer, Refuge, Kindness, Love, Joy, Justice, Creator, Truth, Beauty, Almighty, Mercy, Omnipotent, Compassionate, Forgiving, Light, Wise, Color, Good News, Gospel, My Help, Glory, Gentle, On the Move, Worthy, Trinity, Dignified, Reckless, Dangerous, Comfort, Jealous, Exquisite, Loyal, Freedom, Symphonic, Powerful, Mother, Still, Giver, Strength, My Rock, Radiant, Zion-Dwelling, Brilliant, Safe-House, Perfect, and my Author.

He writes my story.