The Story that's Not About Me.

It was a rude awakening this morning, I’ll admit.

My friend and I sat over coffee yesterday discussing life.  The struggles.  Our battles. Unanswered prayers. And where God fits in the whole equation. 

The thing is I want the story to be about me.  Desperately. For if it’s not, where does that leave me in the story and what should I being doing here on this page?  This page in my country. This page with my family. This page at my job. This page in the Story that’s not about me.

Sometimes we want to author it, don’t we?

We want characters to enter and join in the adventure.

Other times we want them to leave the plot completely.

We want to create a romance.

We want to be the hero.

We want to leave a legacy.

In the Story of Me.

But things enter in.  Plots we didn’t write in.  Tragedies we didn’t dream up.  Characters who hurt us.  Others who complicate paragraphs.  Who distract from the story, who enter in and turn our hero complex into characters we didn’t write in.

Others walk out, when we want them to stay.  The ones who bring color and life to a sometimes dreary black and white page.  Paragraph ended far too abruptly.

In the Story of Me.

What if we can trust that there is a Story.  A story that we are co-authors in with Someone who works for a reputable publishing company. The author wants to weave us in page after page as part of His grander story and the story is all about love.   And the tragedies, and losses, and unsavory characters are still there, yes.  But, the author uses it to reform his characters.  To mold them and shape them.  He uses it to re-author a story chapter after chapter and redeem the pain.

In the Story of Love.

And in this story, we have a hero, who leaves a legacy, and is our Greatest romance.

Who we can trust with the plot.  And the characters.  If we get to know Him.  The Author of the Story of Love.

And it’s hard, I know, to not want to grab the pen and take over.  Especially when the chapter is not going our way.  To want to make it again, the Story of Me.  But, the stories of me collide because our neighbor is writing a different one altogether.

So this morning, I’m thinking about stories, and especially the Story that’s not about me.