Tell us a story. Your words can wrap right around our hearts. We’ll gather them up and lean in and love the pictures you say. We want to hear them.
The way you smile when you talk about those kids of yours. You wrestle them into bed at night; they stretch you and mold you and make you love them so deep your heart feels too exposed–paper thin, but strong. Yes, you are vulnerable. Yet through your story we hear God’s whispers come in soft: Yes, I made you love, like this. So tender-beautiful, like this. And He glows with the excitement and joy of it all. So we do, too.
Your words speak love.
Tell us a story. The time you were sick and the doctors didn’t know what was wrong and you stayed strong, not wanting your family to worry. Your body ached and you trembled and you grew tired of trying to figure out all the things you couldn’t understand. It’s this story, too that we cling to–water for thirsty hearts. The wisdom gentle and slow: in this life, we may not know what’s coming; but we know we are not alone, and it’s all going to be okay.
Your words remind us we’re okay.
Tell us a story. You make us brave, with your warrior heart stretched wide-open and bold. We crave your surrender. We crave truth and beauty and a sister who points us to God. And then you speak the story–in God’s healing grace, you know you are held, and your words hold us, too: You are loved. You are seen. You are not a forgotten one.
Your words heal.
Tell us a story. The promise you made to your family: this ministry, this job, this project is not more important than the people you love most. You say yes to what you love by how you spend your time. That’s why you make a few promises; that’s why you know the songs of loved ones and you heed the music of their hearts.
Your words carry life.
Tell us a story. The nights your tears soaked your shirt as you lay quietly, in the dark, feeling invisible and unvalued, and you let God come in gentle and whisper softly, tender heart, the truth: You are Mine, a light that shines. I glow here, illuminating darkness with the spirit I give you. Dear one, you shine. My light is in you, and where I rest darkness flees. I see you, princess girl. You are Mine.
Your words bring hope.
Tell us a story. Sweet friend, tell us a story with this life wonder of joy that is you. For we forget ourselves then. For we see His face then. We need your word pictures, His dear girl. We soak up your story, and your beauty makes our voices echo back the song that is His. We want to jump in and share in this story–this love language you speak, too.
Please. Come on now. You are so beautiful. Tell us a story.
Do you believe your story could bring hope and help us see God? How has a sister’s story shaped you, given you strength, given you courage and hope to your heart?