Dorothy had only one eye. She wore glasses, and the lens that covered her empty eye socket was frosted. I didn’t know how she came to lose her eye, but I was about to find out.
She smiled most of the time and laughter danced easily on her lips, but she was especially exuberant the day she came to the church on her 40th birthday. I made some wisecrack about most people feeling old and miserable when they turn 40.
She looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Hey, pal.
Turning 40 is better than the alternative. Believe me, I know. Every birthday reminds me of the miracle that’s my life. My birthday is a celebration of life!” Then she told me about her missing eye.
When she was a small child her doctor discovered a life-threatening cancerous tumor that could be removed, but in order to do so he had to take her eye along with the deadly invader. She told me about the surgery, the painful recovery, and all that went with it.
It couldn’t have been easy growing up and being so different from other kids. I can imagine the taunts of bullies who tried to boost their fragile self-esteem by belittling her.
Even typically kind kids (and adults) can be cruelly intolerant of people who are different than they. Enduring this kind of treatment leaves many people wounded and broken while others emerge strong and remarkably whole. What determines the difference?
There’s not one answer of course, but I think I know one reason. When we talk about our lives we tell stories. In a real sense we are the narrators for our life’s story, and the way we tell our story — the words we use, the perspective from which we speak — influences how we live.
Many people who have lived through challenges like Dorothy’s describe their lives in terms of brokenness and injustice. “Why did this happen to me?” they ask.
“I am deeply hurt by the way people have treated me.” Dorothy chose to tell her story differently. She told her story from the perspective of gratitude and joy. She talked about her life as a gift and a blessing.
“Considering all the options, every birthday is a reminder of the miracle; nobody thought I’d reach 10 let alone 40,” is how she narrates her life.
Maybe she learned that God has given us the power to choose how we will tell our story from the story of Joseph. Joseph is the beloved son of his father, Jacob.
His brothers, however, resent their father’s favoritism and Joseph’s arrogance. Acting out of their rage and insecurity, the brothers sell Joseph into slavery and sell their father on the idea that his beloved son is dead. After serving for years as a slave in Egypt, Joseph rises through the political ranks to second in command only to Pharaoh. When a famine drives his brothers to Egypt in search of food they are surprised to find Joseph, and they are terrified. They expect to be killed, for they assume Joseph will tell the story from the perspective of hatred and rage. But instead of a story of mistreatment that ends in revenge, Joseph welcomes his brothers because he tells the story differently: “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.“ (Genesis 50:20)
We cannot change what has happened to us and we cannot control everything that happens to us, but we can change the way we tell the story of what happens to us. How will you tell the story of your life?
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Dorothy had only one eye. She wore glasses, and the lens that covered her empty eye socket was frosted. I didn’t know how she came to lose her eye, but I was about to find out.
She smiled most of the time and laughter danced easily on her lips, but she was especially exuberant the day she came to the church on her 40th birthday. I made some wisecrack about most people feeling old and miserable when they turn 40.
She looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Hey, pal.
Turning 40 is better than the alternative. Believe me, I know. Every birthday reminds me of the miracle that’s my life. My birthday is a celebration of life!” Then she told me about her missing eye.
When she was a small child her doctor discovered a life-threatening cancerous tumor that could be removed, but in order to do so he had to take her eye along with the deadly invader. She told me about the surgery, the painful recovery, and all that went with it.
It couldn’t have been easy growing up and being so different from other kids. I can imagine the taunts of bullies who tried to boost their fragile self-esteem by belittling her.
Even typically kind kids (and adults) can be cruelly intolerant of people who are different than they. Enduring this kind of treatment leaves many people wounded and broken while others emerge strong and remarkably whole. What determines the difference?
There’s not one answer of course, but I think I know one reason. When we talk about our lives we tell stories. In a real sense we are the narrators for our life’s story, and the way we tell our story — the words we use, the perspective from which we speak — influences how we live.
Many people who have lived through challenges like Dorothy’s describe their lives in terms of brokenness and injustice. “Why did this happen to me?” they ask.
“I am deeply hurt by the way people have treated me.” Dorothy chose to tell her story differently. She told her story from the perspective of gratitude and joy. She talked about her life as a gift and a blessing.
“Considering all the options, every birthday is a reminder of the miracle; nobody thought I’d reach 10 let alone 40,” is how she narrates her life.
Maybe she learned that God has given us the power to choose how we will tell our story from the story of Joseph. Joseph is the beloved son of his father, Jacob.
His brothers, however, resent their father’s favoritism and Joseph’s arrogance. Acting out of their rage and insecurity, the brothers sell Joseph into slavery and sell their father on the idea that his beloved son is dead. After serving for years as a slave in Egypt, Joseph rises through the political ranks to second in command only to Pharaoh. When a famine drives his brothers to Egypt in search of food they are surprised to find Joseph, and they are terrified. They expect to be killed, for they assume Joseph will tell the story from the perspective of hatred and rage. But instead of a story of mistreatment that ends in revenge, Joseph welcomes his brothers because he tells the story differently: “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.“ (Genesis 50:20)
We cannot change what has happened to us and we cannot control everything that happens to us, but we can change the way we tell the story of what happens to us. How will you tell the story of your life?
