Walking through my parent’s office the other day, I stumbled upon the book “Horton Hears a Who” by Dr. Seuss. Even at 24 years old and with quite a few things left on my to do list for that evening, I couldn’t help myself. I stopped and read it through. As a young kid before I knew how to read, I remember begging my mom for just one more book. Whether it was a simple classic like Goldilocks and the Three Bears or epic stories like the Chronicles of Narnia, I loved the adventures of a well told story.
As I’ve grown older, my love for stories has neither gone away nor diminished yet the word story has taken on deeper meanings. No longer are good stories hidden within the pages of books (or perhaps in the hard drive of a Kindle) but are told in the short stories of our lives. They are toddlers discovering the way the world is put together, a stranger encouraging a single mother struggling to provide for her children, communities coming together to help out those that have not, an engineer working hard to provide clean water for communities that have none , and simply a farmer bringing in the last of the harvest.
I am often drawn to people whose lives tell stories such as these but not simply because the story in itself is good but because it points to the great storyteller that tells it. Each of us has been given our own story to tell yet it is not truly our own story. It is simply a small portion of a greater story that is often forgotten. It is a story of lasting hope, unending love, and incredible redemption. It is the story of our Creator.
Tomorrow, I leave for Antigua, Guatemala for six weeks of language school. While I’m there, my own story will not be as it has been. I will meet new people, new foods, and a new culture. But in spite of all the ways that my story will be different, ultimately God is asking me to tell the same story. It is a story of lasting hope, unending love, and incredible redemption. It is the story of my Creator.