Beauty in the Boring
Sometimes working in a field where people have faced overdoses, incarceration, poverty, abuse, and trauma, I can be tempted to think of my testimony as very “vanilla”. It can feel like it somehow lacks drama or a story line that rivals a Hollywood movie. Sometimes I can get so caught up in the trap that is comparison, that I think my story lacks a certain level of “spice”. Sometimes my faith journey might feel like a bologna sandwich on white bread while others have a story that is aromatic and full of chilis and curry.
Sometimes God blesses us with an opportunity to see our story in a new light. That’s exactly what happened to my husband and I on our most recent vacation. While we planned a trip full of exciting adventures along the Gulf Coast, including sometime in New Orleans, the part of the trip that has left my heart and soul forever changed was not necessarily doing the “touristy” things.
For those who may not know, my parents, Monty and Lennis, who also attend Champion, were truly pioneers in our family. They were the place in our family’s history where a new chapter began.
My Dad grew up in Kansas. My Mom is from Wheeling, West Virginia. As young believers, they both felt a call to attend college in Houston, Texas. Having just visited there for the first time in my adult life, I am astounded at just how brave they were to leave home and head to such a big city. I find this especially true for my Mom. Nothing about Houston, Texas seems remotely appealing to the woman I have known my entire life. A big city with palm trees, heat, humidity, and no hills? It’s a far cry from “almost heaven” and White Christmases.
Yet, they both obeyed. They both went in pursuit of the Lord and the Lord brought them to the place where they would ultimately meet, get married, and start their family.
It was just a couple of months ago that their story became real and vivid to me.
I have been told and I have read about their story and how it begins mine, but I had never been to the places I had heard about. I have read letters that my Mom wrote to me while I was still in the womb and up until after my brother, Derreck, was born two years after me. I have heard some cassette tape (Sorry, for those of you too young to understand what that is. Google it. LOL) recordings of my Mom talking to her parents back home and having me talk to them, too. (I had a very comedic Texas accent back then. If you see me at Church, ask me to demonstrate!) I had never been to where my story began.
I know that Houston is not the same as it was in 1979 when I was born, yet, there was something in my spirit that felt immediately connected to places that it is seemingly impossible for me to have remembered.
We first went and saw the Church where my parents were married. My parents have been nothing short of an incredible example of a Christian marriage to me and my brother, and now, my husband, too.
Next, seeing the house that was their home from my birth until our family moved back north brought profound joy to my heart. Taking a picture under the same tree that my Mom has Polaroids (Again, you may need to use Google!) of me photographed when I was brought home from the hospital and as a toddler stirred something inside of me.
I also got to see some of the remaining buildings on what was once their college’s campus as well as the Church that I was dedicated in. (Pretty special for me, having just been ordained in May on my parent’s 48th anniversary.)
But, then, came the sacred moment I will always cherish. My now 70 year old parents navigating my husband and I through Bluetooth in our rental car to places that had been significant to them when they were college students turning from friends into falling in love with each other. (Even writing about this now, my eyes fill with tears.)
My parents may not remember where they put their wallet or their cell phone, but with great precision could tell us what streets we were about to cross and things we were about to see, 50 years later! And then we arrived at a place that my parents called “The Sandbox.” It’s the place where they spent hours and hours together when their love was new.
My husband and I then stepped out of the rental car and Facetimed my parents and with tears in all four sets of eyes, I said, “Did those kids ever imagine that these kids would be here?”
You see in those letters were moments that my Mom wrote prayers for me and my brother and for our future. That brave young twentysomething Mom may not have known when or how her prayers were going to be answered, but, as I looked into my phone at my Mom’s beautiful head of white and silver hair, it was a full circle moment because not only was I there, but I was there with the man that my Mom prayed for since before he was even born.
In that moment, for the rest of that day, and even now recalling it, I have heard the song “Goodness of God”.
“All my life you have been faithful. All my life you have been so, so good.”
Except, He’s been good since before I, and even you who are reading this, ever came to be. His hand was in my life in all the places that I was seeing for the first time with my own eyes.
Just when I thought that my story and my testimony lacked the Hollywood story line, God made me remember that He writes better stories than any production company. I came to realize that having been saved as a preschool aged little girl in my living room watching Billy Graham may not seem as grand as being saved from addiction or being a rebellious adult turned into a righteous one, but it is just as much a miracle. How miraculous God’s goodness has been that it didn’t take me drowning in a bottle of booze or having to learn my lessons the hard way to bring me into His kingdom. He loved my parents enough to honor their prayers for their children. He loved me enough to know the joy of being his child since I was one. That’s not boring. It’s beautiful.
There was no less joy in heaven (Luke 15:7) the day I came to know the Lord, as there was when anyone else reading my words, who has believed in Jesus as their Savior, came to know Him.
So, whether your story has been an action adventure movie or has simply been a slow paced documentary, the author is the same and His work is always something to stand in awe of. Your story is HIS story. May you always remember that you are amongst miracle after miracle, including your own.