THE CREED

* 3/11/13, Blue Ridge Mountains, after reading "Running on Empty" *

I will no longer run on empty. 

I acknowledge that I have an addiction to busyness and performance. I admit that it has emptied my tank, often leaving me exhausted, broken, and full of insecurities. It has pushed me away from God, polluting my perception of Him, clouding my ability to see, hear or feel Him.

I have been striving for perfection and pushing to achieve. Killing myself to meet the expectations of others, which were only ever false assumptions and impossible expectations made by my own worst critic, me.

I have constantly chosen:

doing over being
noise over quiet
running over resting
pushing over pausing
busyness over stillness
projects over prayer
flesh over spirit
perfect over me
work over God
stress over peace
performance over presence

I have become my own worst enemy. Embodying everything I hated in everyone else. I've absorbed the pressure of the world so deeply that I can feel it in my pulse. I've believed the lies of the American workaholic culture so strongly that I hear its relentless whisper in my ear.

I chose to grow up before I needed. I traded in childlikeness for responsibility at ane arly age, only as a result of my own longing to do, perform and achieve. And the faster I ran, the more of myself I lost. Always thinking I wasn't enough, I pushed the real me down, buried it deep under layers of fake that said, "I've got this," "I can do it all," and "I'm unbreakable."

Adults complimented my maturity, but always added that I should slow down, stop and smell the roses, I've got my whole life to work. But I charged on, full speed, running on empty.

Because at that point, I was crumbling underneath. And to admit I no longer had control over my own life, that I couldn't handle the pressure, or that I wasn't in fact perfect...would destroy the image I'd worked so hard to build and keep up. And if I was only worthy because of my performance, then who would love me when they found out I was actually...a failure?

And so I ran and ran and ran. Always on empty. Always striving to keep up the facade of perfect performance. And always losing moments of life and joy. Not to mention self-respect. The emptier I was, the more self-hatred I felt in the form of thoughts of failure.

Today, I say enough.

Today, I admit that I have a problem. I am addicted to busyness and performance. And I have lost myself on this race to perfection.

Today, I choose to change.

I acknowledge that nothing I do or don't do will ever change how much God loves me. He will never love me less than He does in this very moment, and He will never love me more. His love is unconditional, and my striving and achieving does not impress Him. It saddens Him deeply. He longs for me to receive His love, be still, and know that He is God.

Today, I relinquish my false sense of control over my life. I acknowledge that God is almighty and allknowing. He sees into the depths of my heart and knows me, the real me, which He loves immensely. He also sees far into my future, which He has planned for my good. He is and always will be in control of my life. He reigns over Heaven and earth.

He plans my future, not me. He guides me along the right road, not me. He makes my paths straight, not me. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, and I never will. I give up the facade of knowing what my future looks like. I return my life into the hands of my Father who formed me as He wanted for the plans He created.

I vow to stop planning every detail of my life. To surrender my future to the one who created and knows me inside and out. I say that I know not what tomorrow will bring, and I know not which way to go. But I trust in the plans you have for me. And I choose to listen and follow Your voice, wherever it may lead.

My only plan is to follow You. My only purpose is to be with you.

Today I vow to choose:

being over doing
quiet over noise
resting over running
pausing over pushing
stillness over busyness
prayer over projects
spirit over flesh
me over perfect
God over work
peace over stress
presence over performance

I will slow down. I will rest, shut up, and listen. I will be who You made me to be. I will not hide. I will not pretend. For that dishonors the Creator.

I have an addiction to busyness and performance.

And today, I surrender it to You. And I ask You to come close and fill all the holes that have fed this addiction. The false lies I have believed about my lack of worth.

The world has told me I am only lovable when I perform well and when I am perfect. But You tell me I am a radically beloved child of God, who You could not possibly love more. You delight in me. The real me. And long to see me childlike, whimsical and full of joy. You long to be with me.

I declare this as the only Truth worth living by:

I am a radically beloved child of God.

I will not be anyone or anything I am not. I will not worry, stress, or fear others' opinions, expectations, or approval. About my performance or my future.

I am a radically beloved child of God. And I was not created to run on empty. I was created to live a life of joy and passion with my beloved. And that is the only thing I will strive to do.

Today, I say enough. I know who I am, whose I am, and who I was created to be.

I will no longer run on empty.

Brie & Blueberries

Published on 3/17/13 as a guest post on The Marcella Project.

Two of my favorite things these days are brie and blueberries. When I want to indulge, I pick up a package of each at the grocery store. They are so decadent that they make me feel like a queen when I bite into them. And together? Oh I think they might be a contender for the greatest edible combination on earth. Seriously, though. Forget peanut butter and jelly or nutella and strawberries. Chocolate chips and cookies or pie and ice cream. Who needs tomato and mozzarella or wine and cheese? Okay, I definitely do, but the point is…brie and blueberries were made for each other.

The creamy bliss of brie, with its sharp flavor that lingers on the tongue. And the flavor-bursting, liquidy coolness of blueberries, just the perfect combination of summery sweet and tantalizingly tart. And together, on the same plate? A seriously sensational combination of heavenly tastes and textures. Brie and blueberries would be a complete course in my culinary last supper. No crackers. No bread. Just brie and blueberries.

The funny thing is, I hated both of these luxurious food items as a kid. Blueberries were not my fruit. I found them to be overly sweet and fake tasting, like when you know something has Splenda or aspartame in it. Blueberry filling in poptarts, blueberries baked into pancakes, blueberry flavored candy, I constantly turned my nose up in refusal to it all. It didn’t taste good. It tasted like you were trying too hard to make it taste good, leaving it grossly sweet with little flavor. I preferred the tanginess of strawberry or tartness of apples.

But the thing is, no one ever put a bowl of fresh, untouched blueberries in front of me. The only blueberries I was eating weren’t really blueberries at all, but over-processed, over-sweetened blueberry flavored products, like candy or poptarts or donuts. They all left a nasty aftertaste, but none of them were pure, unprocessed, whole blueberries.

I think this is why people don’t like Jesus. They don’t like Him, because everyone around them is feeding them fake, over-processed Jesus. And no matter what form they serve it in (a simple sermon, a conversation over coffee, a small act of kindness, or a smile), it often leaves an aftertaste of Splenda. It’s too sweet and lacks pure flavor. Because the real Jesus is like blueberries, bursting with flavor that wakes you up, quenches your thirst, and leaves you hungry for more. Untainted by humanity’s oversimplification and often well-meaning but over-processed serving of Him, Jesus is as tantalizingly sweet, refreshing, flavorful, and surprising as an untouched blueberry. If we were serving up real Jesus, people wouldn’t be able to get enough. But instead, crowds are turning up their nose to the awful aftertaste of fakeness. And I don’t blame them. If I thought Jesus tasted like a blueberry poptart, I would’t want anything to do with Him, nor would I think I needed him.

I didn’t like brie as a child either. It was my mom’s favorite cheese, but I couldn’t get over that bitter taste of the thick rind that stained my tongue enough to enjoy the splendid creaminess of the rich, gooey cheese on the inside. My mom made it out like brie was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Oohing and ahhing at its decadence and deliciousness. All I heard was how wonderful this brie was. She described it as scrumptious and heavenly, but I thought she was nuts. I mean that awful rind was chewy and bitter and ruined the cheese entirely. I didn’t buy it.

But that’s because I didn’t understand the beauty of bitter-sweetness. That the harsh rind that first touches your tongue allows you to fully appreciate the rich creaminess that follows. I was so stuck on the rind that I couldn’t get to the soft, sensational filling. And since everyone obsessed over how remarkable this cheese was, I was convinced they were insane.

Similarly, we give a false reputation to what following Jesus is really like. Yes, there are rich, heavenly moments in His presence and perfect peace. But you have to get through a seriously bitter rind to make it there most of the time. Following Jesus isn’t a shortcut to the creamy center. You gotta eat brie the same way everyone else does. But because we talk about it like it’s magical deliciousness, people are immediately turned off when what they taste isn’t so sweet. They sense bitterness and they yell, “Hold it, this isn’t what you said it would be.” They encounter struggle and based on personal experience, call us out on our crap and give up on Jesus, because they tasted for themselves, and we were wrong.

We have to stop acting like life with Jesus is a fairytale. Like following Him is easy and struggle-free. It’s hard. And there’s a lot of bitterness to cut through. And even though that makes the sweetness He offers all the more sensational, to not honestly admit that we encounter trials along the way feeds others lies that will cause them to harden their harts and turn away when they meet hardship on their own journey with Jesus.

God deserves better. We have to stop over-processing Jesus like fake blueberries and over-sensationalizing Him like He’s the rind-less, creamy center of brie. The people around us deserve to taste the real Jesus in His fullness, like a summery sweet and tantalizingly tart bowl of fresh-picked blueberries. They deserve a life of following Him, full of the incomparable bitter-sweetness found in a bite of brie.

Let’s serve up Jesus just as He is, and talk about life with Him as we actually encounter it. Anything less just leaves a bad aftertaste and nobody asking for seconds. I’ve tasted His goodness and only desire to fill my plate with more, just like I can’t get enough of blueberries and brie. Don’t you want others to desire the same?

The Pursuit

I spent this past weekend in Philadelphia at The Justice Conference. I had heard a lot about the conference from many people I know. They all said it was inspiring for anyone in this line of work and that I and my team needed to attend. Being at The Justice Conference was a great experience...but not in the way I thought it would be.

Yes, I was inspired by the thousands of passionate justice seekers coming together to learn about the movements and causes and fighting of injustice taking place around the world. By those who risk their lives daily to literally set the captives free. I was inspired by stories of those who have been fighting on "the front lines" as they say. Entering brothels to rescue young girls who were trafficked. Taking modern day slave owners to court. Day after day after day.

People who have been doing this long, tiring, messy and often boring work for decades. Feeding the hungry. Caring for the sick. Empowering the poor. Finding the lost. Freeing those in bondage. Changing laws that enable injustice and protect those who violate freedom. Literally transforming statistics that reveal the deep impact of such work.

Seeing the one. Saving a single life. But over and over and over. Until tangible progress is made and trends of injustice are slowed, shrunk, and reversed into trends of justice.

It was hard not to be inspired. We hear so much about the problems in our world. But in the darkeness there is light.

It's shining through the smile of a young girl who is now going to school, learning and growing in a safe home in the Philippines after years of being imprisoned and brutally taken advantage of for years in a brothel. It shines through the forgiveness offered by a former child soldier to her very abductors. It shines through the transformation of a former brothel owner who now helps rescue the very girls he used to traffic. It shines through the pride of a rural woman in Africa who, thanks to a small micro-finance loan, now runs her own business and employs half of her village. Including her husband who once beat her daily, but now respects and stands beside her. It shines through the ruling of a judge that places the first policeman in a nation in jail for facilitating human trafficking and protecting brothel owners. It shines through the shift in policy from contributing to injustice to informing justice. It shines through a decrease in the number of girls abandoned and forcibly aborted in China due to the one-child policy.

From smiles to statistics, light is breaking through the darkness of this world. One person, one life, and one story at a time.

I was inspired. But I was also overwhelmed. Through deep wisdom offered by various speakers, I realized justice and world change have become idols in my life.

Eugene Cho said so well: "Make sure that the pursuit of God is that which informs your pursuit of justice and not the other way around.


That's when I realized that I've been guilty of doing the opposite. I've fallen so in love with the idea of changing the world and impacting lives that it has become an idol in my life. I'm often more in love with it than with God. Seeking harder after it than after God. He has to be the source. If I am to pursue justice, it should be only because He asks me to, which He does. And more importantly, how, where, and when He asks me to. If my pursuit of justice, my love for the idea of changing the world, does not come from a much bigger pursuit of Jesus and far stronger love for Him, justice and world change have become idols in my life.

I need to stop trying to change the world and start listening to where God wants to take me in this world. To stop following justice and start following Jesus again. To stop loving the idea of making a difference in the world and go back to my passionate first love of Jesus himself.

I need to stop fighting this fight, shut up, pray, and seek Him to learn what fight He wants me to fight.

You see, there are so many injustices. So many causes. So many movements. Once you start fighting one, you easily get swept away and consumed by it. To the point that you're obsessed, and fighting that fight becomes more important than sitting silently at God's feet. You get involved. Invested. Your time, energy, love and resources pour into it. And you feel so connected with the cause that you can't imagine having any other purpose than fighting that injustice.

But our purpose is really quite simple: it's to walk with Jesus. To love Him, know Him, and be with Him.

I became so enamored wit the idea of world change that I lost that. I embedded myself so deeply in the fight against child soldiering that I stopped listening to the whisper of God. I marched in the movement instead of sitting at God's feet. Worked on projects to change the world instead of praying for God to change hearts.

And so I didn't hear Him say whether or not this really was my fight. It's a necessary fight, and God's heart is yearning for people to act to bring an end to child soldiering. To bring hope to those affected by the wars in East Africa. To empower children who have survived these wars to find healing, freedom, and their voice. To bring peace to Congo and Uganda, and the world for that matter. He wants that more than we ever will. It's a beautiful, honorable, and worthy fight.

But I'm not so sure anymore that it's mine.

Maybe it is, but I've felt God pulling me elsewhere. I've felt Him peeling back the walls of my heart to reveal exactly how He wired me. The very skills, talents and passions He gave me. Why and what for. I've sensed Him leading me toward a different fight. A different cause. The one that He tuned my heartbeat to from the very beginning.

But I've loved this pursuit of justice more than the pursuit of Jesus lately.

And so I've made excuses to stay and fight an honorable, worthy fight, but a fight that maybe wasn't meant to be mine. Or was for a very specific time, but just isn't anymore.

What is my fight? I have a few ideas, some common themes that I feel tugging on my heart. But really? I have no clue. I just know that if I am to be brutally honest with myself and stare into the depths of my heart and more importantly the deep, beautiful eyes of Jesus...it's not this anymore.

And so it's time to stop pursuing justice in a way that hasn't been informed by my pursuit of Jesus.

It's time to sit at His feet and shut up.

It's time to stop marching and be still.

It's time to stop loving the idea of changing the world and simply love Him.

It's time to give Him the space He needs to speak over me and inform my pursuit of justice. So that I can start fighting my own fight. The one I am equipped to advocate for and wired to bring about change within. The one He has created me to fight. The one He wants me to fight.

It's time to go back to the source. In a season of seeking nothing but the heart of God. To get back in step with the Spirit. So that I can march with humility, only out of love for Jesus, right by His side in the battle He has chosen me to fight.

Flesh vs. Spirit

I’m starting to wrap my brain around the idea of living out of your spirit. Mostly because I’m encountering a lot of problems from failing to do so. Like learning what my demons are. Coming to identify and know them by name. The ones that have been around for quite some time, settling into my mind and making it home.

My demons. They reside in me and continually taunt me. They do their job quite well, distracting and leading me far astray. I’ve felt them tug and pull me away from intimacy with God and awareness of my spirit. They’ve got muscle to be sure, and we all have our own. But mine are very clearly showing themselves as fear, doubt and anxiety.

They are clever, and they’ve had me fooled for quite some time. Camouflaging into my own thoughts. Even presenting themselves as the Holy Spirit at times. They have occupied my mind, but only because I’ve let them. I’ve allowed them to do so by putting my faith in them, believing in them, trusting them. Ultimately, I’ve agreed with them.

Every agreement has empowered them to remain in control with possession of my thoughts. Giving them more reign over me than my spirit has. Slowly, fear, doubt and anxiety have become the voices I know and trust. Shrinking my spirit and its influence over my thoughts, beliefs and actions.

It’s as if I handed over the key to my mind and gave my demons the ability to unlock the door, turn off the lights, and rearrange my thoughts like tiny furniture. Hiding what threatens them, replacing what defeats them, and dimming what reveals them to be only mere demons.

As I’ve empowered my demons, I’ve disempowered myself. It’s now a struggle to live out of my spirit. Instead, they feed my flesh, causing me to live out of fear, doubt and anxiety. Which often makes the world look darker, God seem smaller, and hope appear to be far off in the distance. They feed me lie after lie, and I quickly gobble them up like tiny bites of truth.

Whatever mountain is standing before me would be a lot smaller and far less scary if I would simply come out of agreement with my demons and into agreement with my spirit.

A couple months ago, when trying to decipher if I had heard God right or if I was off in what I thought He’d spoken over me, I heard Him whisper ever so slightly: “Trust your spirit. It’s more credible than you think. It knows me, sees me, and hears me. It’s looking at me. Trust your spirit. It’s more credible than you think.”

My spirit sees God show up before my eyes can. It hears Him speak before my ears are able. It feels Him move before my body can notice. It’s looking at Him, following Him, pressing into Him, and becoming more like Him. And because of that, it’s more trustworthy than I think and far more powerful in the fight against my demons than I give it credit for. My spirit is more on the right track than my flesh will ever be.

And so I have to stop living from the flesh and instead live out of my spirit. But in order to do so, I must to come out of agreement with my demons, and into agreement with Truth. Transformation comes when we renew what we think on.

I will choose to think on God’s word, His goodness and His promise. His faithfulness and His truth. I come into agreement with all that He is and all that He has spoken over me. I accept it as the only Truth worth living by.

And I come out of agreement with fear, doubt and anxiety and any other form they may take. I take back the key to my thoughts, and hand it over to my spirit. My demons cannot reign without my permission, and I revoke all power and privilege I’ve given to them in the past.

I will trust my spirit more. I will agree with God’s truth, lean not on my own understanding, but take Him at His word, and live out of my spirit. Fear, doubt and anxiety, you no longer get to control me. You are no longer welcome here in my mind or in my heart. It’s time to pack up and leave. Now.

Like my demons feed my flesh, You, Lord, feed my spirit. I pray that You continue to feed it more of You and Your truth. Empowering it to lead me in the right direction by reigning over my thoughts, beliefs, emotions and actions. Feed my spirit until it grows to fill and occupy every space in my mind and every particle of my heart. Until I have shed so much flesh that the only way to possibly live is out of my spirit.

In the treetops of your wildest dreams

Radnor has become my refuge. The perfect escape. My own Green Cathedral. Where peace emanates throughout. Cares wisp away in the wind. Obligations and to-do lists sink to the lake bottom. The hazy fog is pealed back from my strained and weary eyes, and brightness seeps in. Brilliant colors glisten on the water's surface.

Reflections shinning through the kaleidoscope ripples. I can see colors once beyond my vision. As if I'm looking through a photographer's filter, enhancing shades once dimly dull to indescribable brightness and hue. Even the crunchy piles of brown leaves now glimmer with a gold that burns the stare.

My eyes, before heavy laden, accustomed to being stuck only on the screen dead in front of me, are finally light enough to gaze into the distance. Beyond the lake and into the trees. Up past their tallest branches and into the sky. I am no longer constrained by a small space I inhabit between man-made walls. Limits are no more.

I can smell the freedom in the scent of pine. Hear the possibilities in the chatter of the birds. They live uninhibited, wings stretched wide, flying from tree to tree. Flowing swiftly with the wind, or fighting against it if they so please. Freedom is their very means of existence. Their breath of life. They chirp profound whispers in my direction...

"Spread your wings and fly with us. Drop your back-breaking, overstuffed baggage and come away with us. Adventure awaits you in the treetops of your wildest dreams. The ones you consider impossible. Far-fetched. Childish. Unrealistic. Selfish. Absurd. Yes, those. The very ones you were meant to live. Believe in them again, and you can fly freely with us.

Imagine the brilliant sun warming your back. The undiscovered colors and smells and sensations. Transformation awaits you up here. Come experience weightlessness and ease. An indescribable peace will accompany you on this unpredictable journey. And up here, you will become who you were created to be.

So, will you believe in your wildest dreams again? So you can spread your wings and fly with us? Believe and you will find freedom that puts that which resonates here on the ground at Radnor to shame. Just believe."

The birds beckon me with their song. One that I'm certain they sing for me alone. And just like that, I am lost in the depths of my wildest dreams. Watching them dance gracefully in technicolor reflections atop the ripples of Radnor Lake. And I just might be on my way to believing once again...

Voice & Vulnerability

My writing is beginning to transform. It's not always showing. It's not a constant. There are gems that glitter with relatable truth and clumps of crap that reek of the mundane. That's how writing goes. Just like any other art form. There are on days and off days. A few masterpieces in between loads of shit. That flow of ups and downs will inevitably continue. But transformation occurs despite them.

Overall, your work develops as you discover and fine tune your voice. The ebbs and flows, valleys and peaks, occur in an upward direction, always moving toward telling your truth.

That is what I'm noticing with my writing. Reading over my pieces, rather written on the up or the down of this dynamic wavelength, I can see more of me. My voice is growing more audible. It's slow going and perhaps hard to recognize, but once a faint whisper, it now resonates at normal volume. Shinning through the carefully crafted words, creating smoothness and revealing character. When you read my work, you now come to know me. In a far more intimate way than you used to. A way that invites you into the unpolished, ugly, embarrassing, quirky, and raw.

Reading my words, you enter my reality. Not as I dream it or desire you to see it. But as I actually live it. You discover my humanity in watching me screw up and fail time in time again. Seeing me struggle with the same battles you fight. You learn little things about me like my worst nasty habits and my most pride-stripping moments. You get inside my head and see the thoughts, ideas, dreams and desires that inhabit it.

It's like seeing me in my sweatpants on a lazy Saturday afternoon. Hair pulled back and greasy, acne rather than makeup covering my face, while I sit on the couch shamelessly stuffing my mouth, eyes glued to the television while I catch up on crappy shows. Up close and personal. You can smell that I haven't showered or even brushed my teeth.

Or like you're watching me fall to the floor, hunched over and heartbroken. Breathless from crying so intensely. Knees too shaky to stand. Mascara tinted tears staining my white t-shirt. Self-esteem shattered. Identity stolen from me by the one who left me at my weakest.

You watch me put up walls. See me build them back up each time, brick by brick. Only to see them crumble down once again when the next one comes along. You want to scream at me as I search and search in all the wrong places for who I really am. Shake me while yelling in my face, "You're better than this!"

No, I can't hide those dark moments anymore. Not from you. Not if I want my voice to come through these essays and blog posts and someday maybe, books.

Because fine tuning my voice, finding, developing, and sharing it...is really just about breaking down wall after wall that covers my fragile heart. It's tearing down layer after layer after layer, until every bit of excess, including the fear and pride that cripple my development as a writer, have been thrown away along with them.

I can only find my voice by embracing vulnerability. Vulnerability is the absolute key to sharing my truth. The more vulnerable I become, the better writer I will be. I've gotten just a glimpse in the past few months. And I'm ready to step into the boxing ring and take out those protective shields I've built around my true self. Until only me and my truth remain.

Here's to a season of embracing vulnerability, and in doing so, finding my voice.

Story is enough

Published on 1/18/13 as a guest post on The Marcella Project.

Lately I’ve been learning the importance of my story. The need to find and share my voice. I’m a writer, as much as I’ve fought saying those three words, never thinking of myself as a creative. Even though words were my craft, the only thing that ever really made sense to me, my method for processing, and basically my very breath. I just didn’t think I qualified for that creative realm that artists occupy. Not until I started wrapping my brain around the idea of being created in God’s image. You know, God THE Creator. But that’s another story…

As a writer, I’ve been struggling to find license to share the real stuff. Permission to leave my voice on pages in its natural state. Constantly thinking that my words are too raw and unpolished. My writing not nearly poetic enough. My experience average and uninteresting. My story too unimportant. Not worthy of being told.

I spent time looking back through the books that have shaped me over the past few years. You know, those books that make you laugh and cry and aspire to be a better version of yourself. The ones that hit hard and then don’t fade away after you turn that last page and place it back on the dusty shelf. The ones that actually impact you as much as if you had heard their story face-to-face meeting in a coffeeshop.

One of those was Bittersweet by Shauna Niequist. I skimmed through the list of chapters, all short stories on her experiences of life as a combination of bitter and sweet, highlighting that one without the other just wouldn’t be as beautiful. I was really doubting the importance of my story that day, certain the idea of sharing it, even if only through a blog that few read, was a dumb idea. My eyes spotted the last chapter title, “You Must Tell Your Story.” Well, guess I should read that one, huh?

In five short pages, my opinion on story was transformed. Writer to writer, believer to believer, person to person, Shauna convinced me that my story, along with everyone’s, must be told. There’s no other option. And nothing more important.

I learned from Shauna that story is enough. We constantly invalidate it. Overcompensate for what we think story is lacking. Adding unnecessary fluff and overused clichés. But story, raw, untouched, organic story…is enough. Absolutely enough. People tend to think otherwise, because like me, we assume we are nothing special and that God is doing much bigger, more impressive things in the lives of others whose stories speak more highly of Him or have a more impactful finish. Sure God’s shown up in my life, but he cured that person of cancer. And he redeemed that broken marriage. And he [insert many other cooler stories of God’s goodness and grace] over there.

But if you have a relationship with God, then whatever your story is, God is all up in it, around it, and through it. And that means your story reveals a piece of the bigger story. The story of who God is. His heart.  His character. His promises. Chances are, the biggest part of your story has yet to unfold, because it’s how your story when told will impact the lives of others.

We’re all a piece of the bigger story. And the coolest part is that the bigger story isn’t complete without us. Our perspective. Our experience. And our voice. It’s just like a 5,000 piece puzzle you assemble on your dinning room table only to find out one tiny piece was gobbled up by your dog. You stare at what should be a masterpiece, furious at its incomplete state. It’s just not done without that one missing piece. While we may be a very tiny, seemingly insignificant piece of one massive puzzle, the big picture just isn’t complete until you add us into the mix.

Shauna (I really do feel like we’re on a first name basis at this point), explains this:

“The big story really is actually being told through our little stories, and by sharing our lives, not just our sermons, we’re telling God’s story in as reverent and divine ways as it has ever been told. God’s story was told in Hebrew and Greek, and I believe that it’s also being told in whispers and paintings and blogs and around dinner tables all over the world.”

I love this. It’s exactly what The Marcella Project is doing through blogs, salons, and bible studies in wineries. Telling God’s story. Digging into God’s word, yes. But without the common trend of separating it from what God is doing in our own stories. From real life as it unfolds day to day, uniquely for each of us. That’s why I love The Marcella Project. It validates voice and experience. Creating avenues for raw and organic truth…which ultimately makes the conversation relevant.

“Let’s resist the temptation to hide behind theology the way a bad professor hides behind theorems and formulas. We dilute the beauty of the gospel story when we divorce it from our lives, our worlds, the words and images that God is writing right now on our souls.”

I completely agree with Shauna’s take on story. It is indeed enough. Simply because it brings the gospel to life. Reminding us that God is still moving and working today in each of our lives.

As we start a new year, I want to challenge each of you to grow more comfortable sharing your story. In whatever shape or form that takes. Maybe that’s in a blog post or while teaching a classroom. Or during a small group or bible study. It could be at coffee with a friend or in conversation with a whole group at a dinner party. Boldly validate your experience by telling your truth. Accept your role in the bigger story by believing your story is enough. And sharing it with others. Because…

“If you have been transformed by the grace of God, then you have within you all you need to write your manifesto, your poem, your song, your battle cry, your love letter to a beautiful and broken world. Your story must be told.”

Will you tell it?