Who Am I?
I search through my memories for an answer and I find story. My sisters and brother sitting together listening to my parents read us story. Overlapping voices growing louder, my extended family speaking, layering story. I grow older and learn to passionately devour story myself.
Always in the background, my God, writing His story in His Word, illustrated in the colours of nature, spoken through the voice of creation. Who am I? I am a product of story.
I glance back through the early chapters. The setting is a small town and I see Grace on every page, walking on every street; surrounding me. Time passes and the setting moves to a busy city. A husband has been added to the cast of characters. From quiet familiarity to thronging masses, Grace steps out to walk alongside me. I see that it has not left me, it has moved in with me.
Another chapter, another setting. This one across the ocean. In the early pages, several planes crash the world into chaos. Fear of the unknown threatens to smother me. Grace speaks, “Fear not.”
Turning pages, shifting mood. The blackness of depression. I could not open my eyes to see it or my ears to hear it, but Grace gently rocked me murmuring, “I will never leave you or forsake you,” until I could feel His arms once again. Four beautiful children burst onto the scene in rapid succession. Amidst this often frenzied background, Grace is my rest. Through the brokenness of knowing I seem to hurt everyone around me with my failings and inadequacies, Grace holds me close, whispers forgiveness, and leads me on.
Who am I? I am a woman who reads her story and sees that I am pursued by Grace. I am a woman who knows Grace has brought me here thus far, and Grace will lead me home. And so I write; hoping that my story will tell His.
I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice? C.S. Lewis