This is my story

I realize it’s not Wednesday. But even if it was Wednesday, it’s been so long since I’ve done a Worship Wednesday post, it would probably confuse you all. But it’s not Wednesday, it’s Friday. And this Friday, I’m listening to music waiting for my husband to get home from the store and one of my current favorite Christian songs comes on, Big Daddy Weave’s My Story.

This song speaks to me so much. I grew up in a Christian home. There was never a time when we didn’t go to church. There was never a time when I didn’t believe in God, or know that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God who came to earth as a man, who lived a perfect life, died on the cross for ME, and arose three days later. This has always been true for me.

And then I’m around people talking about their story, and they all have this big AHA moment where suddenly they understood and believed and knew Jesus came for them. And then I feel like I am less. Everyone is sharing their salvation story, and I just sit there uncomfortable hoping no one is looking at me. I don’t have this big story. I do not have a single moment in my life where I remember anything but believing in Jesus. Does this make me less?

I grew up in the church. We always, ALWAYS, went to church. If you spent the night at our house, you went to church on Sunday morning, too. There were no ifs, ands or buts about it (unless you snuck out at the crack of dawn. I’m looking at you, Joey). We went on Sunday mornings and Sunday nights until we changed churches and then we went on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights. We were always in church. And if something happened with the church we were currently attending, we immediately were in another church. Church, God and Jesus are just something that has always been a part of me.

I hear people tell these stories, and I am so moved by them. They were in this horrible place and God spoke to them and they found Jesus and I rejoice with them. These are amazing stories. And then I am terrified they will ask me mine. And then what do I say? I’ve always believed? I’ve never doubted the presence of God?

Don’t get me wrong. I have made mistakes. I have made my own gigantic, horrible, terrible mistakes. But even in the midst of those mistakes, I knew God; I knew Jesus. While I was making my mistakes, there was never a moment when I doubted the presence of God. And while my mistakes may have taken me away from God, I knew that He had never left me.

What kind of story is that? What kind of testimony is it to say you always knew Him? There are days this makes me feel less, less Christian, less devoted, just less. And how ridiculous is that? Shouldn’t always knowing Him be more or equal to? But still I feel less.

My middle brother was the first of the three of us that were baptize. I remember so clearly as a teenager my brother saying he wanted to be baptized again because the first time he was baptized we were attending a Church of Christ where they have communion every Sunday and my brother really wanted to be able to have communion because every one else was. I remember my teenage brother with his amazing story being baptized again. (I am not saying that he ever doubted God or Jesus, just so we are clear.) I remember watching him being dunked into that water and being so proud of the choice he was making. I remember being jealous that he had this moment of clarity and a story he could tell. Isn’t that silly?

I know not having an amazing story doesn’t make me less. It doesn’t lessen my worth in my Father’s eyes. It’s such a silly human thing that I’m sure comes from Satan. And maybe that’s why this song means so much to me.

To tell you my story is to tell of Him.

My story (or lack thereof) doesn’t make me less. It doesn’t make me more. It makes me me. We all have different stories. We all come to Him in different places. Do you know what is important? It’s not the story. It’s that we come to Him.

So if you ask me my story, I will tell you a story of when Life overcame the grave. I will tell you of when justice was served but when mercy won. Let me tell you of the grace that is greater than all of my sin (and boy have I sinned.). Can I tell you about the kindness of Jesus which is more than any of us can imagine? This is my story. This is my song.

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It took all day, but I got the message

It’s been a crazy kind of week. The boys (ages 5 and 4) and I have been trapped in the house for the last 5 days. Between the bitter cold and snow and my husband needing our truck, there hasn’t been a trip out. No going to the library, or grocery store, or even sending the boys out to play in the snow.

The house now feels like it is about 20 square feet.

We have all reached our breaking point.

I’m on edge and my nerves are shot. The boys are loud and appear to fight over EVERY SINGLE THING! And I ran out of coffee creamer yesterday morning.

And through the whole crazy, loud, obnoxious day we’ve had today, the same thing has repeated through my head.

Be still and know that I am God.

It’s like a chorus running through my head. The boys are chasing each other (and the dog) through the house screaming (and barking). I close my eyes, take a breath, and hear:

Be still and know that I am God.

No one likes their lunch (except the dog) and they want [insert any random food we don’t have here].

Be still and know that I am God.

I take a break to read a blog post from a blogger I just found (mustbethistalltoride.com) and its called “Be still and know that I am God.”

Okay, okay. I get it. A couple posts back I talked about God speaking to us and how it takes two or three or more times for me to get it, and today was proof that those words were true.

Be still and know that I am God.

I get it. I know that I’m not in control of what’s happening, but I am in control of how I respond. And how I respond directly reflects how the boys will respond. I need to take a breath. I need to be still and know that God is in control and knows exactly what is and what will happen.

And it took all day, but I finally got the message. And when I did, the situation changed. Don’t get me wrong. The boys are still chasing each other and hollering. But I’m different.

They are growing up so fast, and someday I’m going to look back on these days fondly. Yes, even the days where they made completely crazy. I’ll wonder where the time went and how they got so old so fast.

Im going to cherish the time when they are small enough to want hugs and kisses and cuddles and tickles.

Im going to remember when it’s just the three of us at home that we are not alone here.

And then I felt at peace. I felt calmer. I felt better. Because I took the time not only to hear God speaking to me but to really listen to what He was telling me.

I believe that God speaks to all of us. Sometimes we hear Him, but amazing things can happen when we take the time to listen to Him.

With all of our gadgets and noise and stuff, it’s hard to hear God sometimes. But it’s even harder to listen. And when we listen amazing things happen.

Be still and know that I am God.

I got the message. It just took all day for me to listen to it.