Things that make me suspicious:
Milk nearing its expiration date.
My wife when she says she’s fine.
Someone who makes themselves the hero of every story.
The first two of these terrify me. The last infuriates me.
I can’t tell you how many presentations, sermons, or personal encounters I’ve endured where the person holding court always manages to be the wisest, kindest, most generous person in every story they tell.
They always knew exactly what to do. Or always had the right thing to say. Their advice? Always spot on. Their hunch? Always prophetic. My eyes couldn’t possibly roll any further back into my head.
It’s certainly possible that I’ve become a little jaded as I’ve grown older. You can call me a curmudgeon if you want. But I truly don’t believe anyone is that impressive. No one I’ve ever known has been anyway.
The best storytellers are those who tell their real story. They share the good with the bad. The story where they changed. Where they struggled. Where they grew. Tension is the linchpin to every great story. And some of the best tension comes when someone admits they made a mistake, didn’t measure up, or simply got it wrong.
The struggle is the story’s real gift. Growth is what inspires us.
Nowhere is this more important to me than those who speak from the pulpit. Speaking for God is a weighty responsibility. The goal isn’t to make people think you’re awesome. The goal is to help them see how awesome God is. And how God loves them even though they really aren’t fine. I say this with every bit of love I have…it’s not about you, brother.
Maybe I’m just jealous. Envious of people who have their lives together and always seem to know what to say. That ain’t me. I’m a mess. But I’m trying. I’m growing.
I’m not perfect. And I doubt you are.
Our stories shouldn’t pretend to be, either.