I never really thought of myself as a story teller. But, at its core, that’s what I do.
I tell stories.
I tell stories of pain. But also joy.
I tell stories of despair. But also hope.
I tell stories of tragedy. But also redemption.
Recently, I’ve been working on the story of a young girl sold by her mother to an 80-year-old man in exchange for food and drugs. It’s ones like these that really get to me. How do you survive that? How do you ever heal? Or build a life?
This girl, she’s 14 now. Fourteen. A child, still. And yet, nevermore.
But amazingly?
She’s healing. She’s rebuilding. She’s living.
Because we serve a God of redemption.
It astounds me, these stories that God places in my hands — these people that God rescues and redeems.
I find I am not worthy to tell the stories. And yet, it has been entrusted to me to do so. I pray God gives me the right words. Words that honor, respect, and edify.
