Christians are weird.
If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m partial to ’em, I could say a lot more. But what cracks me up is the weird way we dive deeply into conversations with strangers.
People at bars? “Sup, whatcha drinking? Anyone drinking with you?”
People at a park? “Is my son playing with your kid? Aren’t 5 year olds an adventure?”
Not Christians. Nope. When faith comes up – as it often does – we ask one terrifyingly open ended question, “What’s your story?”
I don’t mind that question, I really don’t. But Dude… give me some guidelines. You want my story from the time of conception or just the emotional highlights that make people cry? You want the story that highlights Jesus or lets you see how selfish I can be? The question was easy when I was 12- my story was maybe two sentences long- “I came to Jesus when I was 4. Then I grew up. I’m still growing up.” (Okay, that was 3 sentences. Numbers aren’t my thing.)
This past month I have met a conglomeration of new people. Most of them family members of friends and loved ones or acquaintances of acquaintances. Most of them were Christians, so “The Question” came up a lot.
I learned when my disabilities didn’t matter and what did was the fact that I’m proof God can completely transform a discarded mess into a heart that loves people.
I learned when to allow my story to be all medical terms and no emotion but all scientific proof that God still exists.
I learned when to make my story a story of forgiveness.
I even learned what it meant to let someone else tell my story for me… and then love them anyway when they stopped telling my story and just talked about Jesus. I learned to strive for the shadows and to let God shine so brightly I was no longer seen as the subject. No matter what.
There’s one blessed thing about being asked that ambiguous question a trillion times in 31 days.
You realize Jesus can look completely different depending on what story He asks you to tell.
No matter the perspective of my story, it’s the same Jesus.