The Stories We Wear

Have you ever seen someone and just instantly liked him, instantly trusted him?

Have you ever known a person and the way he looked at you just made you shiver?

I went to see my friend and mentor today, RSL. She is an amazing, giving person, and something about her inspires me.

Today she asked me a question that caught me by surprise. Though it probably shouldn't have. She's the second person in the past few weeks to ask. I wondered how she knew. Was it that obvious?

Her question reminded me of how we can live between two worlds, but we can't really become two people.

the time we spend on our knees
the pain we absorb
our secret sins
the choices we make
the words we choose

They sometimes come out clear and sharp-edged, like a photo in a newspaper. More often, they weave together in a complex tapestry. Our joys and sorrows, weaknesses and strengths. Our stories. They touch every aspect of our lives, each part of our universe affecting the others.

"When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and they took note that these men had been with Jesus."

The story of our lives can show that we have been with Jesus.
And I hope that in my tapestry, I can live and love in such a way that I learn to let Him show through.

Between two Worlds

Do you ever feel like you live between two, or three, or more worlds?

Things will be falling apart at home, but you wear a cheerful face at work.

You've just been given a scary diagnosis, but you know you can't tell anyone around you.

You're homeless, but do a really good job of blending in at work or school.

You're pregnant.

You're not perfect.

You know what I mean.

"He stabbed a knife into our kitchen wall. His hand slipped. Gashed his fingers. Cut a tendon. Gonna need surgery."

Actually, she thought it was pretty funny in its own way. That was so totally like him. Fire and ice, sweet and sour, ever the one to go crazy in an argument and end up in the hospital.

But her co-workers weren't laughing.

As they stared at her in stunned surprise, she knew her story hadn't hit quite right. And she wasn't sure if she should have told it at all.

Is it better to be noticed or overlooked, to be understood or blend in, to be remembered or forgotten?

I suppose these are questions we all struggle with at times. But they often bring me back to something deeper. God knows what it is to be misunderstood, overlooked, and forgotten. He knows what it is to be falsely accused and alone. God knows what it is to be an Invisible Man.

God knows the story of every homeless man who pretends to live in a cute yellow house with a white picket fence. He deeply loves every teenage girl who has a child of her own. And as we try to remember the enormous price He paid as He bled and died, I am grateful that he bled for me, as well.