Whose Story Am I In?

I just finished writing this entire post, went to read through it from the beginning before hitting “publish post,” and lost the whole thing. That somehow seems appropriate given the subject matter…

I’ve been reading Genesis this month. I’m attempting to stick with the plan and get through the entire Bible in 2007. I’ve done it before but when I get behind it gets a bit daunting and easier to set aside than to keep forging ahead. This morning I must have read 2/3 of Genesis, which gives you an idea of how far behind I am already. If you must know…I should be to Exodus 14 by today. ‘Got a ways to go.

Anyway, as I’ve been reading I’ve been struck by the endless drama and ever-present crisis that seems to be in the midst of someone’s narrative nearly all the time. It feels familiar, certainly within the text, but also in my own life. At the same time, I’ve been aware that this is not the story of Adam, Abraham, Hagar, Rebekah, Dinah, or Joseph. It’s the story of God. Will I acknowledge the same for my own narrative?

What am I to do with this text; with this collection of stories that seem to be about particular people (and are, of course, to some extent) but are really about God? What do their stories – filled with such drama and crisis tell me about the God whose story I’m really reading? They tell me that this God, this master storyteller, is not so concerned with the individual plot twists and turns; the mistakes and foibles and minutae that are constantly creating such messes. That’s comforting. They tell me that this God, this master storyteller, is weaving a much larger story that certainly inculcates individual stories but is far larger, far more redemptive, far more passionate and powerful than any one story could possibly be. Comforting, yes – but also a bit disconcerting.

I realize how much I want – how much we all want our story to be THE one…and certainly the one God is most involved in and concerned with. Frankly, I want my story to be the one in which God is a part, not the other way around. Seems like if that were true, then drama and crisis and pain and struggle wouldn’t have to be the experience du jour, but instead peace and calm and ease and freedom. Yes? Apparently that’s not the way it works – for anyone in the Biblical text or for me.

Perhaps it’s the very reality that I want things the other way around that creates the drama and crisis in the first place. The case could be made that this is exactly what happens in the stories I’ve read thus far: Adam and Eve want the story to be theirs. So does Cain. And Sarah? Yep. Abraham, too. Lot and his wife? Then there’s Rebekah, Jacob, Rachel, Leah, Joseph and his brothers…the list goes on and on and on. Each of the individual narratives tell of the tension between the story they want told and the God of whom the story is really being told.

Will I let my life be a part of God’s story? Will I allow my own drama and crises to be evidence of God’s grace, kindness, redemption, and love? Will I rest and breathe deeply in the reality that my story doesn’t have to be the be-all, end-all? Will I allow the plot twists and turns I experience on a daily basis become the gentle (and sometimes bellowing) call to a larger story, to God’s story, of which my narrative is a part?

In my best moments I don’t want to be in charge of my story…not really. Sure, I’d like to have not lost my previously typed blog text (even though it was nothing like what I’ve now written). But I want rest and peace far more than control. I want to know that the drama and crisis of my life are not the end of things; that the God who loves stories, certainly those in the Biblical text, but also mine, is writing, directing, and producing a story that is far bigger, better, and more beautiful than I could imagine or dream. That is comforthing. I will rest…maybe after I’ve read a few more chapters yet tonight.

Tagged as: crisis, drama, Genesis, narrative, story

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