I read a story just now of a man telling a story of a seasoned man with a story to tell. The story told of hardship of life; the story told of Truth and Life. There were secrets exposed; there was vulnerability to behold. Within each lifetime, there are so many stories to tell. Within each lifetime, there are secrets that litter a closet and there are secrets that proclaim joy and success.
With each face that we look into, with each face that we seriously take note of, there is a story to be told. The one who is beautiful and naturally chiseled is weak and fearful, confused and angry in the inner being. If his story were told for all to read, would we be drawn closer out of respect and love or would we react with disgust and ridicule? A spattering of surprising comments revealed one who is running out of places to hide, running out of places to go for love.
The one who is aging and twisted in form is strong in experience and wisdom, yet the outward appearance seems frail and precariously dependable. Within hours, a box of nails and a truck bed of lumber has been shaped into a structure that will stand for a lifetime. If anyone were to take the time to read his story, would we see him differently than the ones our eyes behold? The legacy he is leaving behind who will notice?
The one who assumes the role of savior executes great earthly power and authority in the lives of others who are close and far, yet this self-appointed god of the land is destitute in grace and rich in anger. If her story were told for all to read, would we turn to her for her strength or would we run from her for her oppression? Her handprints she is leaving behind who can bear them?
There are so many stories being told all around us. There are stories that we read when glancing at the surface; there are stories deeper still if we take time to look. Sometimes our lives tell stories that reveal the kind of secrets that we would rather have left in the closet; sometimes our lives tell stories that reveal secrets of Love, of Truth, of Hope and of Joy.
If anyone were to really take the time to read your story or mine, what secrets are they to behold?