your story is good, if you let God write it

The more I recognize my own brokenness and need of a savior, the more I recognize other people's brokenness and need of a savior. I suppose you can call it an increased compassion. And as painful as our hardships and battles might be, I do find a comfort and peace in being able to look around, to see with God's eyes, to know that while I may not know you, or even like you, you most likely have some serious inner stuff going on....and so I pray for you, for whatever that stuff might be.

And I have to be quick with my thoughts this morning, because according to my 14 year old daughter, there is either an animal or ghost in the bathroom, and a "where did all of my clean clothes go, I have nothing to wear today" mystery, that only I can solve. I want to suggest that the ghosts and animals are wearing her clothes. But I know to choose my morning battles wisely. And so I decided on a third cup of coffee and writing instead.

Yesterday, sitting in a therapists waiting room (it's what I do for fun), I overheard an elderly couples conversation. The husband, quiet, often closing his eyes and nodding his head, patiently fielded a thousand unrelated questions from his wife, who despite her physical pain, needed to talk continuously.

And I took notes as she spoke. Which I know...is sort of an invasion of privacy...but it not only fascinated me, how little sense any of it made, but it stirred up a peace within me....to focus on someone else's inner ramblings, other than my own. To know that I am not the only one who has so much going on, that none of it makes sense, and I don't care if you are asleep while I am talking, just let me talk, please.

Because keeping it all in can kill you, you know.

So as she spoke, I wrote it all down....

"What do I do?"

"Our babies...they were different at birth."

"The pain is so bad."

"I'm talking about infants."

"I really don't think about him anymore."

Her husband, opening his eyes, whispered, "Deep down, you do."

She continued.

"You have any problems you want to talk about? You talk first. I have no problems."

"Call somebody. Anybody. I want to talk to someone."

"Did you put a pill in your pocket?"

"I'm hungry. Where did we get that danish?"

"I'd love to go to that bakery in Poland."

"Oh what do I do? The pain is so bad. Where is that other pill?"

"This office is so depressing, don't you think?"

That last one made me laugh. Because it was. Depressing.

And it is good to laugh when we feel low. It is good to find humor in the midst of a trial. And it is good to listen in on other peoples conversations when you are sick of your own. Because it takes you out of whatever place you are stuck, and drops you into another story. And we all have one. A story. And sometimes I think when we feel stuck, it is because we have forgotten that we are not the author...we are not in control...we are not asked to come up with the ending.

God has my ending. Your ending. And the couple in the therapist's waiting room ending. And the sooner we hand over our authors contract and our desire to write how it all ought to go, and let Him do the writing, accepting that our only job is to obey and do His will...we are guaranteed a beautiful story. We are assured of a good ending. And not just when we are dead. But right here. In the land of the living. I have to believe this. We have to believe this, sweet friends. Because otherwise, our stories...at least the messy chapters, the pages we want to skip over, the paragraphs that are terrifying...they can destroy us; steal our joy and crush our hope. And that is not God's plan for us. That's the enemy's plan for us. Do not negotiate your story with the devil. He has no right to your story.

And I have no idea, really, what this couple's story is...but I took it upon myself to pray for her children, to pray for her pain, to pray for her hunger, and her desperate need to be heard. And for her patient husband, who like Joseph, said so little, but never left her side.