Your Story Matters Read online

  They shouldn’t. Not when these words are inscribed on your heart. You. Are. Made. By. Design.

  Can I say that one more time? Your design is an exclusive line. Handcrafted. Irreplaceable. Unduplicated. Made with unique features purposed to meet unique needs in a unique context.

  Your personality, your quirky traits, your life lens—everything about you brings something to the table that will connect with certain people in ways where someone else's perspective will fall short.

  And those very people are waiting for you to sink your roots into the foundation of an unrelenting, unearned, purposed identity of love. Because when you do, sharing yourself with others becomes less of a risk and more of a calling.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Thrive In Your Calling

  It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Not now. Not after I’d poured everything into the last three years. How could I still be this lost and broken? This answerless?

  I didn’t look to see what time it was. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t go back to my apartment when my heart was still strewn across the concrete floor of the chapel foyer. I had to find a way to collect the pieces that had come undone, one note at a time, during that last song.

  Lifting off the ground, I smoothed out the grainy imprints left on my skin. The marks would be gone from my hands and knees in a few minutes, no trace of pain or impact, but my heart was another story. One I couldn’t ignore or escape. Even when I ran from it.

  I pushed through the overflow of students huddled on the porch and kept running. The night absorbed the lights and sounds coming from that tiny chapel until it felt as though the entire college campus dwindled down to a single space filled by a single girl who felt as empty as the field she stood in.

  No movement. No sound. No stirring except uneven breaths collecting in the air. Dew climbed up from the grass. I folded my arms across my body to keep the chill from reaching places inside I couldn’t protect. But it was too late. Unanswered questions had already found a way through my barriers.

  The weight of it all pulled me to the ground. I collapsed onto my knees once again and peered into an endless sky matching the longing inside me.

  Tears came before any words. But even then, it was more of a cry. Why? Why can’t I see the purpose of my life? Isn’t college where you’re supposed to discover who you are? Isn’t this season supposed to show you the blueprints of your future and whom you’re meant to share it with?

  But it hadn’t.

  Instead, the hole in my chest expanded. Winds of abandonment chafed the edges.

  I’d made it over halfway through college and wasn’t any closer to uncovering the calling on my life. I couldn’t see it. Couldn’t define it. But I felt it. Heard it calling.

  Didn’t God hear me crying in return? Didn’t He see me alone in that field? Why wouldn’t He answer?

  A breeze swam over me, a thought seizing hold. What if He’d been answering all along, but I’d been asking the wrong question?

  What Is Calling?

  Eyes puffy with exasperation, the ruffled teenager turned to me for an answer I wasn’t sure I had. “But how do you know?” she pleaded.

  I recognized the pain in her expression. Felt it. Lived it. Could’ve been looking at my own mirror reflection from years spent wrestling the same question.

  Standing alongside the rubble left from a tornado’s path didn’t help matters. Earlier, I’d walked the streets of an inconsequential, now shattered, Illinois town. Beside one destroyed home lay another untouched.

  It seemed ironic for this young girl to pose her question while surrounded by what appeared to be randomness instead of order.

  “How do you know what your calling is? I mean, what if you miss it?”

  The fear shadowing her voice resonated with an all too familiar ache. Why wouldn’t it when we think of calling as a bull’s-eye we’re expected to land our arrow into with precise aim?

  Of course we’d be overwhelmed at the thought of combing through pages of job descriptions in search of the perfect match to supply our purpose. And the thought of getting it wrong or missing it altogether? Talk about stress!

  But what if calling isn’t as narrow and unforgiving as we tend to make it?

  What if calling stretches beyond a specific job to secure or a goal to complete? Beyond a plan to follow or path to trek?

  What if calling is your life? The things that make you you. The angst and unrest. The skills, vision, and passions. The lessons learned and experiences shared. The circumstances that align your distinct gifts with the world’s specific needs.

  What if calling is the journey of becoming? Of learning. Of standing back up when you want to fold. Of pouring out your heart when you want to tuck it away.

  Mulling over these thoughts, I looked the young girl in the eyes and drew from the courage I’d gained along my own journey. “Your purpose is to glorify God in all you do and to love others as yourself. The unique way you express that purpose is your calling.”

  Her glazed and unsatisfied expression let me know she’d been hoping for a map instead. A one-word answer that’d inevitably be followed by the sought-after, “This is the way, walk ye in it” confirmation we all long for.

  But calling can’t be so compactly defined or experienced. Its height and depth extend our lifelong journeys, every step of which is driving us toward the intersection where our individual stories fit into a much larger story for the world.

  Along the way, we find our pursuit of that story is less a question of how to define calling and more a matter of how to thrive in it.

  How Do You Identify Your Expression

  Has something ever captivated you? I mean, goose-bumps-raising kind of awe? It happens to me most every time I experience the arts. The level of talent mesmerizes, energizes, and awakens the artist in me.

  Have you ever listened to a score from a movie and taken in the intricate way the instruments and notes give rise and fall to the emotions of a scene? Or brushed your fingertips over the lifelike details of an artist’s painting?

  Ever been drawn into a character’s life within the handwritten pages of an author’s imagination? Or watched a soul-stirring dance performance that touched places in your heart only tears could find expression for?

  I’m baffled each time I encounter these talents. How can someone envision such a masterpiece before creating it? How can someone hear all the different sounds that go into composing such a captivating song? Or see the steps needed to choreograph the emotional flow of a dance? How is it possible to see it, hear it, feel it before it even exists?

  Well, maybe because it’s always existed. Inside them. It was just waiting for an outlet. The stirring notes on a page, the elegant moves across the dance floor, the lines sketched over a canvas—each is the expression of the unique song in their hearts.

  It’s that thing inside them that refuses to be silenced, ravaged, or buried. Distractions can’t mask it. Failures can’t thwart it. The ache is too pervasive. The longing too compelling.

  It’s the voice that comes to life at the juncture of raw talent and inextinguishable passion. It’s the unction to create. The call from the art they were born to produce.

  For me, it’s writing. For you, it maybe something else entirely. Entrepreneurship. Photography. Hospitality. Graphic Design. Mentorship. Music. The list is endless. It’s not a matter of you having an expression. It’s a matter of you discovering it.

  Of course, we all know there’s no how-to manual, but I do think we can use some questions as guidelines to help us identify our gifts.

  What comes naturally to you?

  I’ll bet there’s something you do well without even realizing it. Let’s just say it’s cooking.

  It’s five-fifteen on your commute home from work. Your spouse calls and says, “Oh, by the way, I invited the Smiths over for dinner.”

  Your pantry has all of five things in it, and you think, “Ooo . . . a challenge. This will be fun.” (O
kay, first of all, who are you and will you come live at my house?)

  In thirty minutes, you whip up an innovative gourmet meal worthy of Gordon Ramsay’s praise, and you’re thinking, “Sure, but anyone can do that, right?”

  Um . . . Negative! But that’s just it. Cooking comes so naturally to you that you don’t see it as anything special. It feels commonplace, which is probably a telltale sign that it’s part of your natural gifting.

  What gets you out of bed in the morning?

  I know an author who turned down a job opportunity with a six-figure salary accompanied by a six-figure signing bonus. Why? In his words, it wasn’t what got him out of bed in the morning. It didn’t motivate or drive him. Thoughts about that job didn’t wake him up before the sunrise with something burning inside him that he had to write down.

  If you’re a writer, you probably have a similar scribbled-over notepad on your nightstand. And if you’re like me, you even have a pen with a built-in flashlight for those middle-of-the-night impromptu conversations with your heart.

  On Saturday mornings, I wake up raring to go without any prompting. It’s not because I’m going to start my day off with Starbucks. Okay, let’s be real, that’s part of it. But what really compels me to break my sacred bond with my pillow is the joy and anticipation of getting to spend my day seeing the passion in my heart kiss the words on the page.

  I get up and work, not for achievement or money or reward, but for the love of the craft. For the exchange that takes place between God and me. Irrespective of the outcome. Without relent. I write because it calls me.

  What gets you out of bed? Aside from that pesky alarm clock or your spouse’s less-than-subtle elbow shot? Aside from the responsibility to pay bills?

  What makes your heart pulse with purpose? What pursuit stirs you enough to make someone else’s offer of success pale in comparison to the joy of getting to do something that energizes and renews you?

  You find that, and you’ll find the baseline for the song in your heart waiting to be shared.

  How does your life bless others?

  Let’s just get it out in the open. Our calling isn’t about us. It may sound counterintuitive or maybe even offensive, but that doesn’t make it less true. We each have something valuable to contribute to a greater purpose that extends beyond ourselves.

  When I first started writing fiction, I thought there was no greater fulfillment than discovering what you’re made to do, but I wasn’t entirely right. Now, don’t get me wrong, fulfillment certainly accompanies our callings.

  Parents, think about giving gifts to your kids. Do you really need a wish list? Probably not. You’re with them every day. You know what will complement their personalities. You know what will cause their eyes to widen with wonder and their hearts to soar with anticipation.

  Same with God. He knows you and loves you so deeply that He wants nothing more than to see you thrive in a gift made just for you.

  And when you receive it, sure enough, you’re elated. You can hardly believe how well the gift is tailor-fitted for you. A perfect fit in your hands. A custom home for your heart. You hold it close, savoring the joy it brings.

  But you can’t carry it around for long without realizing the gift was never meant for you to keep for yourself. Just as God delighted in sharing the gift with you, you delight in sharing it with others. When your heart lights up from using your gifts to serve someone else, I believe you’ve tapped into the reason you’re here.

  What makes your heart sing and weep at the same time?

  The same thing that gets you out of bed causes your knees to drop to the floor beside it. Because the passion that sings life to your heart is the same one that breaks it.

  There’s a need in the world you can’t overlook. It rumbles in your spirit, urging you to intervene. It may be something you’ve walked through yourself—something that drums with such conviction, it moves you to respond to the charge, take up arms, and stand in the gap for others.

  For me, it’s brokenness. There are moments when I’m on my face, weeping over the things that hold us in bondage of shame and insecurities. Something inside me comes undone over the things we forfeit when we listen to the lies of an enemy who’s already defeated.

  The yearning to see freedom in our lives seizes my heart with such urgency that I can’t not respond. So, I write.

  It’s what God rekindles in my heart every time I buckle under the weight of my calling and cry out, "I don't think I can do this." And it’s what belts from my lips in the times I hold my head high and declare, "There's nothing else I'd rather do."

  In both cases, singing and weeping, one thing remains the same. My heart is spoken for.

  And so is yours.

  I might not know you. The truth is, I don’t have to. I already know you have a unique expression. You have a voice. A pair of hands. You have a talent that seems commonplace to you. But trust me, it’s not.

  It’s never been a question of whether or not you have a calling. You do. That’s a given. The only things missing are the faith to believe it and the courage to invest your life in the journey awaiting your response.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Flourish On The Journey

  Lights dimmed throughout the auditorium. The overhead screen showcased an image of an old yearbook. As pictures came into focus one by one, a caption underneath it revealed a snippet about the individual before revealing his identity.

  Rejected three times from the most prestigious film school . . . Stephen Spielberg.

  Fired from a newspaper for lacking imagination and having no creative ideas . . . Walt Disney.

  Wasn’t able to speak until he was almost four years old, and his teachers said he would never amount to much . . . Albert Einstein.

  And so the list went on. Each faced adversity. Each overcame failure. Each went on to become a successful icon.

  The announcement ended with a charge to recent high school graduates, both congratulating them for overcoming the odds to reach this momentous occasion and spurring them to press through the obstacles they’ve yet to face.

  Along a path that’ll test every ounce of perseverance they have, they’ll likely meet defeat along the way. Rejection. Confrontation with some who may not see their potential. But just like the famous icons on the screen, none of us can stifle or run away from the charge to become who we were made to be.

  Some argue that the first step requires the most faith. I beg to differ. It takes courage to step into the unknown, true. But I’ve found the real test comes several steps down the road. When we have to scale the mountain of learning, trek along the valley of doubt, and trudge through the swamps of disappointments.

  During the days when we don’t hear the music, when our feelings give us emotional vertigo, and when hopelessness beats its baseline drum against our spirits. It’s then—in the middle of our messy lives, when we still choose to keep going—that we discover what it takes to flourish along the journey.

  Faithfulness Through Silence

  A split second. That’s all the time you have to decide whether or not you’re going to continue listening.

  You know what I’m talking about. You’re on the edge of your seat, fully engaged with the speaker on stage. You look from side to side to make sure you’re not the only person in the room because you’re certain he crafted his entire message around the very thing you’re facing.

  And then it comes. That defining moment when the words cut through the glitz and glamour of your temporary fascination and leave you with a choice.

  Ignore or respond.

  Ever been there? I have. While listening to an author share about his road to publication, I sat in awe over how similar our journeys sounded.

  Midway through, a friend a few rows up actually turned around and stared at me because the speaker had just repeated, word-for-word, the same thing I’d shared with her days before. At that point, I thought, okay, you have my attention.

  Then, he hit me with it�
��the part of the story I wanted to pretend wasn’t for me. Of all the query letters he’d mailed out to publishers, none solicited a single response. As in, nothing. Zip. Not even rejection letters.

  Assuming he must’ve missed something, he prayed again for direction and felt like he was supposed to write another book. And though it didn’t make any sense to him, given the lack of response on the first book, he wrote a second.

  Rational? Not so much. But faithfulness isn’t necessarily a call to reason. It’s a call to obedience.

  Two years later, he received a response to the first book’s submission. Yes, I really said two years later. Crazy, right? The book went on to be published and ended up winning best Christian Suspense Novel of the Year, and he had his second book lined up to be published next.

  Wow. But can I go back to the whole waiting-two-years part of the scenario for a sec. No outward validations. No accolades. No visible affirmations of success or impact. Just obedience to a calling and then silence.

  I don’t like that part of the story. It strikes a raw nerve. A pressure point. If we’re being honest, I’m a show-me-the-results-now kind of person. If I’m not seeing the dream come to life, then I must have failed.

  Isn’t that our normal response? As we pursue the things we feel called to do, we’ll inevitably war against a sense of failure.

  It’s that detrimental collision of hope and unmet expectations. Where perseverance unravels its tattered threads and leaves us standing in the shambles of disappointment. Where those unarticulated thoughts cause our eyes to water at random moments throughout the day and make our shoulders cave when no one’s looking.

  Silence stretches. No rewards come. Doubts sprout up from the path and squelch the life from our hearts like ivy taking over a tree trunk. And the battle for hope goes something like this: