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There’s a game I like to play, and it never fails to catch people by surprise. Here’s how it works: I invite someone to grab coffee and once we’ve found a comfortable seat, our hands wrapped around a cup of something delicious, I look into their eyes and say these words: “So, what’s your story?”
Almost every time, they hesitantly respond, “My story? What do you mean exactly?” I then offer to go first, to share with them the pages God has given me to live, and for the record, I don’t sugarcoat a single thing. By the time I finish, I can see the relief in their eyes—not because I have masterfully woven together life experiences into a beautiful story but because I’ve been honest, I’ve shown the mess of it all, and I’ve dared to say that the scars that remain are signs of His grace. My tests have truly become my testimony, my mess turning into my message.
After I finish the telling, I turn it over and ask again, “Will you tell me your story?” And this time, instead of uncertainty or panic, there is peace. You become a safe place when you share your story, both the broken and the beautiful, with another.
And so they begin, and every time I’m in awe of the broken-off pieces and the jagged scars from the hurting places—not because they’re messy but because His grace is enough for us all, running in and washing over, healing and mending, changing and cleansing.
We’ve all walked roads that have battered and bruised, wounding us deep. We each carry scars. I used to hide mine, the one on my head from brain surgery and the ones on my heart from the times community walked right out. But not anymore. I’m learning that scars tell the stories of battles fought and won, of fears conquered and dreams chased, of mighty healing and of Jesus meeting us in the dry valleys.
Your scars tell your story, and although you are more than your past, more than what you have experienced, gone through or done, every moment has been used to shape you into a new creation, redeemed and made whole, holy and blameless in the eyes of Him who sees your scars, your burnt places, and your struggles to join Him and walk on water.
Too often we compare our beginning to someone else’s middle, our behind-the-scenes to someone else’s highlight reel. It’s easy to get caught up in comparing our painful places to someone else’s promised land, forgetting that we’re still journeying and we can trust the unknown of the future to the God we know is authoring its pages.
Every sentence He writes is written with the purpose of pointing people to the Friend who is always walking with us. We’re invited to live and tell our stories, giving Him all the glory. Paul said it this way in 2 Corinthians:
We don’t evaluate people by what they have or how they look. We looked at the Messiah that way once and got it all wrong, as you know. We certainly don’t look at him that way anymore. Now we look inside, and what we see is that anyone united with the Messiah gets a fresh start, is created new. The old life is gone; a new life burgeons! . . . God has given us the task of telling everyone what he is doing. We’re Christ’s representatives. God uses us to persuade men and women to drop their differences and enter into God’s work of making things right between them. We’re speaking for Christ himself now: Become friends with God; he’s already a friend with you.
2 Corinthians 5:16-20 (MSG)
We have been given the task of telling everyone what God is up to in our lives. He has given us a story to live, and it may have twists and turns, roads we would rather not walk, and ampersands (in-between seasons) we would prefer to hurry through to the other side, but He calls us to speak from those places and glorify Him on every page, daring to say He is beautiful and true, loving and kind, no matter what story the next page may tell.
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This is an excerpt from by Kaitlyn Bouchillon. If you’re facing a chapter in your story you wouldn’t have chosen, you’ll find encouragement and hope in Even If Not.
