Tell me your story.
That’s one of my favorite ways to start a dialog, especially with someone I’m just getting to know. It shapes a conversation. Injects intrigue into a developing relationship. And makes me sound cool like Donald Miller.
Stories turn abstract concepts from National Geographic articles or State Department statistics, into actual human beings.
That’s exactly what’s happened here in Honduras over the past few days. Indianapolis hasn’t just come to La Ceiba. Humanity has collided.
Yesterday, a few women from our team shared their personal life stories with the mothers of the Mission of Mercy projects kids. Their vulnerability provided a safe place for these Honduran women to begin telling their own stories.
Stories of abandonment and abuse emerged, alongside a deep and abiding love for their children. Minus the dirt floors and language barriers, they could have been the stories of women in our own church. They were the stories of women in our church.
Suddenly poverty was no longer just an issue to wrestle with, it was people. People with hopes, and pain, and dreams, and joy, and brokenness.
Stories we all found pieces of ourselves in. Stories that gave strength to both the teller and the recipient. Stories that muted U.S. and Honduran, wealthy and poor, super power and third world.
Stories that united us all by our desperate need for Jesus.
Our stories are powerful. They need to be told. Even if the plot line seems more tragedy than inspiration.
So what’s your story?