Thank you for stopping by.
If this were my home, I'd offer you a seat, but since this is a homepage, I hope you'll settle for a story about chairs instead.
Growing up, I dreamed of having a table where people would stop by, sit down, and get to talkin', because to me, that's the kind of setting where the best storytelling takes place.
It took my mom dying before I got my first table. I hope I don't sound like a big complainer, but that dining set was less than ideal - and felt like a metaphor for my life at that point.
I could cover over some cosmetic issues, but at their core, the chairs were broken.
I wanted to welcome guests, but kept picturing people falling through the cracked caning and onto the floor.
I told myself to go to IKEA and get chairs I could easily assemble, but hated to waste what I had. Besides, my love for storytelling started around my grandparents' table, so I wanted something similar to that farmhouse feeling.
The cynic in me thought of what I'd dreamed for, comparing that to my reality: broken, embarrassing, and unstable.
I knew I needed to make a choice - about the chairs, and my attitude, too...
I was carrying around a bunch of hand-me-down stories that I wanted to share with others, but even those had begun to feel like a burden instead of a blessing.
A lot of writers get material from their family.
That was true for me, but it was more than just a metaphor.
Some pieces brought back precious memories, but a lot just looked like a tangled pile.
I wondered if I'd be spending my whole life sorting through other people's unfinished work.
I could have scrapped everything, but I'd been thinking about how Jesus said He'd been sent to bind up the brokenhearted.
I desperately wanted Him to do that for my heart, and I figured maybe fixing those chairs would give me some understanding into His mercy for me.
I began to wonder if what I was seeing as a burden was actually a blessing in disguise.
I did two things that always get me going again when I feel stuck.
I hit my knees, and I got to work.
Every strand of fabric I chose seemed to have a story attached to it.
Stringing them together felt like turning words into sentences. As I strung them together. Even the pieces I didn't like took on a certain beauty when paired with other pieces.
The weaving required keeping a careful amount of tension. Too much slack, and everything would tangle, but if I pulled too tight, the material might snap. And so it goes with storytelling - and dealing with "real-life-characters."
Even if everyone is set on the same ending, they have to learn to navigate up, down, and around each other, often from opposite directions.
I started thinking about the people I'd lost over the last several years, and how each of them left a piece of themselves behind by sharing their stories with me.
I'd held their hands, and held my breath; waiting for each to exhale for the last time.
I hadn't known, until I saw it first hand, how much beauty there can be upon a deathbed.
That was a comfort, but it wasn't a cure, for my terribly broken heart.
Knowing I needed comfort, I clung to the truth found in Psalm 34:
"The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart."
I knew my heavenly Father was near and hadn't abandoned me in my brokenness, no matter how alone I felt.
I wouldn't have wished any of those people back into their broken bodies, but that didn't make me miss them less.
I knew each had endured horrific trials and heartbreak themselves, but they'd also learned the secret of being able to laugh at days to come.
They'd held tight to faith, hope, and love.
As the strands came together, embracing the frame of the chair, I came to understand that preserving their story scraps would be part of my healing process, and perhaps help others to heal, too.
I couldn't see the whole picture of what my brokenness would become, but chose to trust. I'm still choosing today.
I believe Someone is watching from above and sees what my broken story will become.
And I know that I'm not alone.
I have hope.
My prayer is that God will use the broken stories I'm writing to give your heart a sturdy place to rest.
From there, I hope you'll be inspired to seek God's comfort and be encouraged as you share your own story.
Someday, you and I will be leaving scraps behind for others to collect.
They will sit around tables and talk.
What kind of tales will they tell?
"For all things are for your sakes, that the abundant grace might through the thanksgiving of many redound to the glory of God. For which cause we faint not; though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.
For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal."
-2 Corinthians 4:15-18
