This is my story.

It is messy. It isn’t pretty all the way through. It is confusing and unfair and gracious and mine.

It is mine to tell. It is mine to live. It is my responsibility to share.

Because if every story matters, then mine does too.

This is what I get to testify:

My body broke. I broke. And now I’m healed. I was sick yet I’m still alive. I stood outside for an hour staring at the blue of the sky on a Sunday, smelling the grass like a weirdo, pulling the strands apart in amazement of the intricacies of something I walk on all the time. Two days later I was knocked out stone cold on an operating table.

My brain used to hold a tumor. Now it holds a heart.

This is my story. This is my song.

Praising my savior all the day long.

This is my story. Oh, that it may be my theme in glory. That He binds up the broken hearted. That He heals the deepest wounds, loves the ugliest hurts, and instead of walking away He walks through.

Through the dark of night, through the questions and wonderings and wanderings and doubts. He carries you right through because He is love and light and always, no matter what, good.

Even when your story holds a chapter that contains a brain tumor.

Even then. Maybe, especially then.

Five years ago today I was being prepped and then put under as human hands worked to assist in a miracle that was all God’s doing. As you read these words this morning, I am once again laying on a cold table but this time it’s to check once again that all is well.

But here’s the secret I already know:

All will be well no matter what the test results show because it is already well. He has already won, the story is already written, and I will trust the One holding the pen.

It’s true: God turns tests into testimonies and messes into messages. {<– Click to tweet}

And this is mine. This is my story.

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