Life Story

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who wanted to write stories about mermaids and princesses. And of course, since no one else could get the details just right, she had to draw them too.

Thus began her writing career.

It was slow, at first, just little manuscripts crafted with marker and crayon. But gradually, her ideas shifted—magical tree houses and friends’ adventures and puppies galore—and then shifted again—essays and analytics and studying, studying, studying—and somehow, that little girl’s dream got lost in the haze of high school.

She started thinking about college and jobs and the dreaded what did she want to do with her life? But thinking about the future just made her scared. Made her stories turn to thesis statements and her imagination venture down worrisome paths.

And yet, she was still good at writing. Although she didn’t do it for fun, she got good grades and could crank out essays with ease. That led her to college, to writing for a career—research and exposés and boring nonsense that facilitated good grades—and afterwards, she used her wordsmithing to sell products. Products that people did not really need, did not really want.

This all-grown-up girl felt hollow inside, and so, she decided to write a story. About her… but more than her. About fantasy realms and Jesus and finding confidence in who He made her to be.

It took her three years, but she finished it. Endured monotony and revisions and a ton of typos. Nevertheless, she was amazed at how God had brought her childhood dreams to life.

But, she loved words… and couldn’t just stop with one book now completed.

She had to write another. And another. And another.

About her and about Him, now: the Prince Who’s sacrifice made her into the princess she’d always yearned to be. And the more she studied Him—combining her imagination with her analytical talents to teach readers about the awesomeness of the Eternal God—the more she fell in love with Him.

The more she understood that she didn’t have to understand.

While her books could be outlined and planned according to her liking, her life couldn't be. The real world was messy and she was too. But, that was okay. Good, even. Because she wasn’t the author of her own story, her own life.

He was. He held the pen, He crafted the arc of her life ever-so-gently, and oh, how He’d planned an ending that was too perfect for her to imagine.

She didn’t need to worry—striving for answers and fearing the unknown—because her Author was in control. She didn’t need to know the details, for she trusted the Author of her life.

Of her life…

And yours.

Are you trusting Him, too?