The Story

 By now, everyone probably knows that my paid-in-cash-3-years-ago house is still not in my name. God gave the money but held back the transfer for some reason. And yes, it is a very bad situation and a lot of injustice involved but it might have been for my own protection that the Lord allowed this. I say might have, as i have only limited vision and could be totally wrong but....

In my mind i have sold this house about 9 times over the past 18 months. That’s an average of thinking of selling every two months. And not just selling the house, no, definitely relocating. Timbuktu sounded very good about 6/9 times. Alaska 1/9 and a deserted island the other time. And for what reason you might ask? Well, it is not the memories we had here - i mean those are not great but they are okay. My main reason for the longest time was to get away from The Story. 

I wanted to start fresh. I am so glad i don’t have to write...”foolishly i thought i could get away from it all.” Although to be fair it is foolish to think that, but luckily I don’t live in Timbuktu now in a mud hut regretting my rash decision and trying to figure out how to tell The Story in Timbuktuan. Because, even in Timbuktu, they will ask and will want to know The Story. And, as i have recently discovered, The Story is like an African Tsetse fly that will not go away. To illustrate my point...

Last year I decided to try out going to home cell - to try and meet new people. Haha. It was a disaster. They asked me to introduce myself — obviously, I didn’t think it through and so i blurted out my sad saga in a few short sentences (introvert gone wrong) and left them a bit speechless. Oops. Then i tried to expand a bit because I realized it might have come across a bit sterile and short. It went downhill fast after that and it was even more painful to watch....oh to be able to turn invisible and just leave! 

So The Story is not a The it is a Me. Part of me, part of who i am and who i have become and maybe even who i will be. But no beating around the bush, The Story will always be there. And for the longest time I thought it was a bad thing. Not bad, bad, just in the sense that i felt at first just sad talking about it, then i started feeling bad for others who didn’t know how to respond and now i am at a point where i just want to be “normal” and not have this traumatic and shocking story. Very silly really, because have i ever been normal?  Of course not. So weirdly enough i am very thankful that my house was impossible to sell and through this severe injustice God has worked it really for my good. It has kept me grounded. (Although i do wish that this painful saga will be sorted out in my favor and praying for “very soon”, but not getting my hopes up!)

Instead of dreading My Story, i now choose wisely with whom (aka new people) i share it with. Isn’t this Life? And isn’t it better to tell My Story in this point of the story (😊) which so far has no fairy tale ending, or another happy ever after, but just a story about a real woman trusting a Real God to bring Redemption. Plus My Story isn’t all bad - there are small parts that were Extremely Bad, but mostly it is a beautiful story. And it is mine. 

And so i wear my scars as a reminder of the healing. It could be that i have this story to tell - a story of Hope and Redemption, of God’s faithfulness, nearness and ever present help. For hasn’t God proved over and over that He is my Guardian-Redeemer?

Bella