Do you remember the complete and utter drama of trying out for plays in school? You audition, trying desperately to bring the hero or heroine to life and then you wait in a awful blend of dreams and dread.
The day arrives when they post THE LIST on the auditorium door. All the hopefuls gather ’round, scanning the list of roles, wishing to see their name. Asking the same question, will I get to be a part of this play, this story?
Life gets a whole lot better than it was in high school, thank God. You come to realize that the most important plays and stories aren’t happening on a stage some Saturday night in April, but everyday, all around us.
More beautiful than any hoop skirt heroine is a little boy home for the first time from Ethiopia, finally part of his forever family. More lovely than a choreographed rendition of “Getting to know you” is a text message letting you know that a broken relationship has been restored. Listening to your son learn to sing is more precious than a part in “Meet me in St Louis” because this is a play that will last a lifetime.
I cherish nothing more than being a part of stories, my story, your story and above all else God’s Story. I meander through my little house with it’s smudged walls, scattered toys and full pantry and my breath catches and escapes in a heavy sigh. I think about all the people whose stories are dark today, whose mind is full of hard and heavy sorrow and questions.
I can’t be a part of every story, but I can breathe prayers to a God who is the author of every page. I can beg him to teach me to become more aware of the story being woven all around me, to play the part that is the most helpful in his over arching desire to redeem and restore.
I can open my eyes wider and savor the moments where I am privileged to speak the most beautiful lines. To be a part of the dream scenes, the ones that will forever alter the lives of those I love.
Yesterday was a dream day, our family stood along side many others with signs that bore the words “welcome home” and my dear friend Joely walked down the airport hallway beside her son, finally home from Ethiopia. They gathered as a family of four for the first time.
My heart popped and every hair stood on end, how many times had we sat and talked about this moment, rehearsing it in our heads, the day when she would bring her child home after a 2 year pregnancy of fundraising and paperwork.
Finally it came, and it was more beautiful than I could describe, and as we drove home my heart overflowed with thanks. I was humbled to be a small part of the day they brought him home to stay.
Anytime you are humbled to be a part of someone’s story and you have the clarity to realize it, breathe thanks. Really the story is what we have, it’s how we change the world, bring heaven to earth.
Lord give us ears to hear the direction of your spirit as we live out the moments. Thank you for every story we are blessed to be a part of, and give us the courage to go for the roles that are hard, to reach those that others aren’t reaching.
Thank you for sharing your story with me, dear one, any day that our lives intersect is a moment of beautiful humility for me. Be blessed, be brave, see the story.