Photo by Art Lasovsky on Unsplash

Pivotal shifts can happen without warning. “Ah-ha moments”, as coined by Oprah, can be swift or otherwise gradual. The result is an epiphany that has the power to utterly redefine us. At forty I had such an experience. I was illuminated to the idea that my life, while it was mine, was not my story, but His. I was not the star rather He was the Hero. I awoke to the reality that through me He was weaving His story of redemption for His glory. Embracing this truth has plunged me deeper into the ocean of trusting my Father and learning to find sweet rest in His sovereignty but it did not come gracefully.  Humility. It is never an easy pill to swallow.

As if looking through a vision refractor my perspective became sharper and clearer. With every click, click, click of the dial He was coming into focus and I was fading away. My view of Him allowed me to say like the Psalmist, “The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold” (Psalm 18:2). I could exhale. I was released from the burden of self-protection, self-promotion, and self-preservation. I could take off the gloves because He was crafting the story. I had no idea how exhausted I had become. The irony of this abandonment of self was the complete security I felt standing on the Rock and taking refuge in His shelter. This depth of peace whilst in the storm was what I had been chasing all along.

Learning to release authorship of my story empowered me to submit to Christ and to others joyfully. A seismic fracturing was occurring in my heart as the dross called pride was oozing out of the furnace His love cast me into. I was being purified; I was being set free. His story was enabling me to live out Romans 12. Doubts transformed into prayers and petitions for eyes to see His story and to remain in it. My deserts were valleys of purpose instead of dunes of bitterness. Unexplainable peace and emboldened prayers replaced attitudes of cynicism and self-righteousness. Being dethroned allowed me to serve.

Like an ambassador, I no longer represent myself as the star in my life. “I have been crucified with Christ and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. And the life that I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loves me and delivered Himself up for me” (Galatians 2:20). His story is written through me as I engage as a wife, a mother, a daughter, a friend. His word becomes the “lamp unto my feet” (Psalm 119:105) and the anchor of my soul. Hope is the result of a life consecrated to Him because “…for us there is but one God, the Father, from whom all things came and for whom we exist. And there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom all things came and through whom we exist” (I Corinthians 8:6).