Whatever our story, we long for a connection.
But some of us have learned to hide our story deep, to bury it with false smiles or walls built thick with self-reliance and skill and instagrams of spotless floors and blue skies.
Sometimes we skirt wide paths by those who come close like a skittish creature afraid of all touch.
Some of us have learned that to connect means to be in community.
And sometimes we learn that community stinks.
Community can plunge us into rumors and jealousies and knives plunged deep while we face the other way.
Community can pile judgments and offenses and burdens onto sagging shoulders as legalism wrenches sockets out of their right place in the body.
Sometimes community means trials and temperaments and people who are awkward and say the wrong thing or rub your nerves till they unravel like frayed cord.
Sometimes community means doing all the work and watching someone else take the credit.
Sometimes community means taking the rocks thrown at you and paving the way to forgiveness.
Sometimes community sucks.
And sometimes we stave off the connection by making sure none of our story ever finds it place in this world.
Because to know and be known has been too much or nothing at all. And if we share our story all the above will happen, has happened, could happen and that’s a big risk to take.
But sometimes we are brave.
Sometimes we trust with tentative steps and believe that the icky parts of community pale in relation to the connection in the body that only God can bring. And that His story is the one that binds us all in grace and makes the connection whole. And we are made whole out of broken parts and pieced together by one story.
Sometimes we risk it all because we do long to be known. To be seen and still loved not just in spite of our story but because of it.
Some of us are bold and have chosen joy, chosen to get back up and try again. To follow the lead of one who was abused by His community to the piercing of flesh, and the pouring out of His very life, and to the constant rejection of even the most trivial of commands. Sometime we choose to fling ourselves into the fray and claim that our story is one worth being told.
Even if you’ve never told a single soul your whole story, you know it word by word. You know the narrative that plays inside you.
We are made by The Word and they flow out of us or stay welled up inside but they are there, woven through our lives. Words and story.
So tell your story, someone needs to hear it, maybe even you.