How do we find the beauty in stories that feel like they’ve uprooted us from what we thought we knew?
What do we do with the pain of a broken story? For the pain in my shoulder, most days I just want relief. I want it to go away. But when I’m in my “best desperation,” I want God — “in healing or not-healing” as I once prayed. Yesterday, I read a story Larry Crabb shared in SoulTalk. He draws me to pray that I won’t settle for anything less than God’s heart.
Dear friends called him for counsel regarding their sixteen-year-old daughter. She had just told them that she had had an abortion a month ago. For them, as it would be for many of us, it was the death of a story they had written about their family and for their daughter. As Crabb points out, there are lots of good Christian ways of responding to such a tragedy – praying, having long talks, calling a counselor. The danger, he points out, is missing the crucial question that we should really all be asking all the time. [This is my translation of his point]: What are we trying to do in the midst of this broken story? Are we just trying to find all the pieces in the shredder and glue them back together again? Or – a far more gospel response – are we desperate to know God’s heart more deeply through this event? Are we willing to confess things like, “I’ve wanted my daughter to live the story I scripted for her, and I’m not really interested in what you have in mind, God”? Or, will we dive into the mess with humility, praying something like this, as Crabb writes,
“God, we plead with you to restore our daughter to wholeness in Christ. But if that never happens, we declare today that the deepest longing of our hearts is to know and enjoy and reveal you to others. Free us in our brokenness to celebrate your receiving grace as we approach you, to depend on the Son’s redeeming grace as we face our sin and move forward, and to become sensitive to the Spirit’s rhythmic grace as we enter the battle for our daughter’s soul.”
