“Hey, I was just listening to NPR and they were talking about the power of story,” H says excitedly when I answer the phone.
Cocooned in bed with my Kindle and a cup of tea steaming on the night stand, H is chasing pavement for five hours on his way to a conference where I’ll join him in a few days. He’s an hour into the trip when he calls.
“I was thinking about the stories you write, the name of your blog and how you are giving life to people through what you write, “ he encourages.
He often does this. Makes me hold my breath in awe over the way he believes in me.
My man, who fields hundreds of emails a day, runs the day-to-day operations of a church planting movement, drives to a conference he is organizing with more on his mind than I can comprehend and thinks about my writing. Because he loves me. And what matters to me, matters to him.
People often ask me the same question when they hear stories about the hardships I faced growing up, “How did you turn out so well?”.
While my first answer is always that I found Christ at a young age and He redeems the hard places, I also say that I am fortunate to have significant people in my life who believe in me. People who show me, not just tell me they love me. Like my husband.
During childhood, my grandparents drove two hours each way on weekends to spend time with me. They stocked their refrigerator with my favorite food, ran after me on a bike until I could balance, held me on top of water until I floated on my own, taught me the Lord’s Prayer and introduced me to Jesus. As I grew older, they phoned me faithfully, every single weekend. Not because they had to, but because they wanted to.
My grandpa told me I was the best friend they ever had. The feeling was mutual.
After they passed away, God graciously sent more people who love me tirelessly. My best friend LuAnn, who is ceaseless in her encouragement, my mother-in-law who never expects me to be more than who I am, my aunt who believes in me even after we lived together during the teen years and my husband who never gives up pulling me into perspective on days of self-doubt.
And many of you crown me with your golden words that lift my eyes toward heaven.
Today I’m thinking about how I want to be that person for you. Because if we have just one person who believes in us, more than we believe in ourselves, despite circumstance, we can achieve our dreams. We need people to call out those beautiful places buried beneath the elaborate walls we create that blind us from seeing the truth.
And if you don’t have someone in your life telling you how wonderful you are on days when you want to curl up in a dark room of self-doubt, I want to be that person. Not because I think I possess something you don’t. Because I know Jesus, how much He loves you, and the way reminding you of that truth will change you.
So how can I help you realize your dreams? Let’s do this together.
Linking with Imperfect Prose with the one word prompt: Believe.