I’ve been a little down lately and have done my share of complaining. I know this. And in case I didn’t know it, there have been a few people who have pointed it out to me, lest I think my problems and circumstances hold a candle to people who have real issues in life. That’s hardly something you feel like hearing when you’re depressed though, especially from people who don’t know you personally. Everyone wants their life to seem significant and for their personal story to makes sense in a fair and understandable way.
But what if the story isn’t about you?
I was struck with that question just the other day as I was reading a book about life and the story we choose to live. It’s so easy to get caught up in ourselves and what’s happening to us, but the story our lives tell is part of a much bigger story, with an author who has a much grander storyline. I’m a tree in a story about a forest. When I let myself get carried away with what’s happening with the tree, I’m acting as if the story of the tree is more important than the story of the forest.
God is telling a story about the forest. I play a part in that story, but I’m not the story. Sometimes it’s not about me. Sometimes my struggles, my pains, my failures, my hardships, my whatever, have another purpose that I don’t even see. And they probably aren’t that big to begin with. I imagine I’m still a small, developing tree at that…