A Story to Tell; Something to Share

You know me better than anyone I see on a weekly basis.

We’ve historically been heavily involved with our church.

No one cares about my story.

No one cares that I think about God or what those thoughts are.

I am not orthodox enough.

Cheerful enough.

Don’t have enough kids.

I’m not submissive enough.

I don’t give the Sunday School answer. Enough.

A handful may ask my opinion, but they aren’t looking for Bible truth.

They are looking for a pass.  Which I can’t give another adult.  That’s between them and God.

I don’t think I’ve ever said this out loud.

Hurt goes in.  To preserve one’s dignity, at that point, is pride.

Humiliation is also, pride.  Who am I to concern myself with my image?  Worth?

If I have a story to tell,

If I have something worth sharing,

If I have something to contribute,

I’ll save it for who wants it.

If that’s heaven, I’m okay with that.

My name means ‘a pearl’.

My story a string of moments God wrought into something valuable.

You know a pearl started out as a little grit.

 Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls. When he found one priceless pearl, he went and sold everything he had, and bought it.