In 2018 I went through a period in which God showed me that our lives are like a story. I love stories. I mean, I really love stories, all kinds of stories: mystery, young adult, historical, and many more.
Stories are meant to be told to others. I share little parts of my story when I write, sometimes only implicitly and only the portions that allow me to remain feeling in control of what others might think of me. Some stories are easier to tell than others.
Four years ago my dad had a seizure in the middle of the night. He was taken to the hospital, treated, and released. For about two months he ate healthy and tried to take care of himself. Then my mother called me one day, but it was not really just ”one day”. It was, in fact, my birthday. She left me a message that said “Your dad is having bad headaches, so we are going back to the hospital.” The next day I found out my dad had a brain tumor.
God spoke to me very clearly at that time, reminding me of a story found in Daniel 3. When faced with the possibility of death, three men proclaimed, “Our God is able to save us, and He will save us. But even if He does not, we will worship only Him” (17-18, paraphrased). For the next three months that was my prayer. “God, You are able to save him... But even if You do not, I will worship only You.”
And then my dad died.
And I had a choice: To live out the prayer I had been praying or to abandon the God to whom I prayed.
That is the core of many stories. The main character has to make a decision. Edward or Jacob? Volunteer to face death or let my sister face death? Believe I’m a wizard or stay where I am? [Hey, I warned you I like young adult fiction!]
I hope my decision is evident. I still pray. I still believe. I remember that chapter of my story, knowing that God was with me in the fire, just like he was with the three men in Daniel 3.
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