The Story I Can't Quite Tell (Yet)

I am a narrative therapist at heart.

I love being able to to stir up hope when there seems to be none, to be able to weave a beautiful story out of ashes, make all the broken pieces make sense, and point others, and myself, to a life of owning one's story and writing a more beautiful story with their life than they ever could have imagined.

I love doing this. I do it in my therapy practice. And I do it in my life.

Except when I can't.

I look at my life, and I just know there is a story to be told. One of brokenness and pain and suffering, of mistakes and guilt and shame, turned miraculously into healing and wholeness and victory. All the shattered pieces woven together creating meaning and beauty and hope.

But.

If I am real honest, there are still those areas of my life -- those people, those experiences, those heartaches -- that I look at and think: What. The. Heck. Was. That?

No matter how hard I try, I can't quite make it fit a beautiful narrative. I can't quite make it make sense. And it can be infuriating.

I am a narrative therapist at heart. And sometimes I fail at the job.

If I was novelist, I would simply edit and discard this part of the story. It doesn't fit. It's distracting, doesn't contribute to the narrative, confuses the reader, so - take. it. out.

Except I can't take these pieces out. They remain. And they taunt me.

Sitting with and accepting the pieces of our story that don't seem to fit and don't quite make sense is one of the hardest things we can do. And yet, I am compelled to hold onto these pieces. Convinced and determined to hold onto the hope that one day God WILL reveal the beautiful narrative and redemptive story He has always been writing, even when I could not see or comprehend it.

Nothing is without purpose. Nothing.

Grieve where needed. Ask the questions. Seek out answers. And when there are none? Hold on. Your story isn't finished yet.