Up til now, he’d been quiet. Listening for over an hour as I unravelled my family’s story. I paused, took a breath, and said, “Yeah, I think that’s about it.” A nervous giggle escaped my throat. I had just laid bare the core of who I was. What happens next?
He leaned forward. Hands clasped between his knees. His eyes, which had never left me, shimmered in intensity. The silence shouted.
“Two things,” he began.
“One,” ticking off a finger to underscore his emotions. “That was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
I gasped. Hot tears pooled, fighting to escape. I had kept my composure but now my emotions quavered. Those two simple statements of truth turned the lock on a long-forgotten corner of my heart.
“And number two,” he continued, “you have the chance to rewrite your story.”
* * * * *
Stars twinkled in the early morning sky, mirroring the dew drops shimmering on each blade of grass. Words poured out, confessing fears and repenting lies. I sat in our backyard on the porch’s bottom step, emptying my heart in sorrow. Prayers fell short, of words and distance. The ever-present God feels so distant sometimes.
Anxiety and fear closed in. I wanted to build walls, shut myself in, launch attacks, and alienate everyone. I knew why too. Recent events as well as a some upcoming situations were waving every red flag and yanking every trigger inside me. Terrified, I just wanted to hide.
God, I don’t want to be this way. I don’t know how to believe. God, help me in my unbelief.
:: Exhale ::
Rewrite your story.
The phrase appeared so clearly, recalled from memory but also spoken for this moment.
These battles I can’t seem to win.
These fears I can’t seem to conquer.
The wounds that heal, only to rip open and spill fresh pain.
The rejection that lies, well enough to believe.
I am not a broken record doomed to repeat the same damaged song.
I am an author writing the story of a new life.