When You Tell Your Story
Disclaimer: The following stories are true and used with permission, but the names have been changed. The details may be hard to read and consider but are necessary to convey the life impact of the situations and the freeing effects of sharing such stories at the appropriate time and place.
My friend Susan carries a pain no mother should ever have to bear—the devastation of watching her son, Matthew, hand-cuffed and led from the courtroom to be incarcerated.
After Matthew ended a romantic relationship, the young woman asked to talk with him in the privacy of her home. Matthew went, and the encounter ended in consensual sex. Afterward, the woman accused him of rape.
Matt’s attorney counseled him to plead guilty. He was told that if he claimed innocence and the case went to trial—where these types of lawsuits tend to rule in favor of the woman, said the lawyer—then Matt would face up to ten years in prison. If he pleaded guilty, the sentence would be closer to eighteen months. So Matt signed the documents to enter a guilty plea.
This kind and gentle young man served his time and is listed on the sex offender registry for twelve years, five of those years on probation. He’s branded a felon for life and, for quite some time, was not allowed to attend the church of his choice because it met in a school gymnasium where there are children present Mondays through Fridays. Never mind that the church services were on Sundays, never mind that Matt isn’t a child predator, he wasn’t allowed anywhere near children’s gathering places.
Susan told me recently about seeing old friends at a wedding—Mike and Olivia. Susan felt compelled to tell Olivia the story of Matt’s injustice and her resulting heartbreak. Two days later, Susan received an email from Olivia who admitted to a hard season that included a downward spiral into addiction. Her faith in God was shattered. She lost her job and many of her friends. And there was the shame and humiliation to deal with.
At the wedding, when Susan had shared the narrative of watching Matthew falsely accused, disgraced, and imprisoned, this gave her friend permission and courage to tell her addiction story.
Paul, one of the Apostles, wrote these words of encouragement to the church of new believers in first century Corinth:
“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” – 2 Corinthians 4:16-18
Our troubles never feel light and momentary when we’re in the middle of dragging them through our days. But when weighed against eternity, the troubles that are a part of life on this broken planet are … well, lightweight.
I love what author Shauna Niequist had to say about life’s circumstances that affect our lives:
“When we, any of us who have been transformed by Christ, tell our own stories, we’re telling the story of who God is. My life is not a story about me. And your life’s not a story about you. My life is a story about who God is and what he does in a human heart.”
The world needs our stories. The world needs to see how we navigate, with God’s help, the loss of those things that hold deep-seated value—a marriage, a child, meaningful work, a way of life. The world needs to see what God does best as he writes restoration and new purpose into the chapters of our lives.
Over and over, Susan has seen God use her experience to tenderly support others who are hurting and carrying disgrace.
Our stories are beautiful tales of redemption, pages in someone else’s survival guide. And isn’t that just like God—to fashion our ashes into something beautiful and breath-taking?
