God calls us, as believers, to share our story. Each one’s story is really a beautiful reenactment. A dramatic retelling of His story. In us.
For almost an entire year, my silence screamed. The story ironically told by silence: I don’t want to share this story because I don’t like it.
Have you ever felt that way? Ashamed. Unsure the hope promised can deliver. Sad. In an unwanted place. A sticking point.
The beauty is that once whispered, hope appears.
My hope appeared in the form of my girl. She’s ten. Working on two books. Two.
Two she’s sure will be published. With New York Times bestseller across the front. Because she’s funny. Hilarious actually. Confident. Full of grace and purpose and the supernatural ability to laugh at herself, at me, at us. She says her writing is easy when living in a family like ours. Nobody can believe it’s not made up. So she writes it as fiction.
In hopes to make it easier for her to tell, I write. Coming back online with a whisper. In the hard parts. In the easy parts. In the unfinished parts. I'm willing my whisper to get louder.
A mother’s desire is to leave a legacy. To pave the way for future generations. Whispering just might make a way. For her. For them. For me. Most importantly for Him. To work. In us.
And so I whisper.
So the next generation would know, and all the generations to come will know the truth and tell stories so their children can trust in God, Psalm 78:6
What are you doing to create a legacy for your children? To lead them to their dreams by example?