The Author of Our Faith Stories

The Author of Our Faith Stories by Julie McAllen

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Heb 12:2)

Father, I love your stories. Thank you for the story you tell through me. It is your story, it is our story. Everyone has a story. We praise you for writing our stories.

As a child, God led me to the stories of an oppressed people told through Frederick Douglass, Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr. I was drawn to their stories. Now I know, God wrote their stories too. He told me about all of us through them.

We all are captive. We all live in slavery. Our soul’s cry is for freedom. Something stirred in me when I heard Martin speak the words “I have a dream.” My soul awakened when I read Frederick Douglass’ psalms of freedom. I did not hear these words in a church, but I was seeing the Light in the dark faces of these heroes. I did not see their skin. I saw the Spirit of God in whose image they were created.

You give us a story regardless of our upbringing. We receive it and we give it back. Water the earth Lord. You are in our songs, our cinemas, and the words we exchange with one another. I heard the story. Now here I am, your servant and you send me to an oppressed people.

I am no abolitionist, no civil rights leader, it was before my time. But God used what was recent history to me as a child to stir the passion I could connect with as an adult. I am revisiting my childhood heroes. My black Jeremiah, Frederick Douglass, knew the captivity of his mind because of the bondage of his body. God authored that he never let go of HOPE. These things remain: faith, hope and love. I read his words and they mingle with scripture and I know I am hearing the voice of God. And it has been the voice of God all along that has led me here, to minister HOPE. Hope, not to those in physical chains whipped on a plantation, I recognize the enslaved mind. Those who, for whatever reason, can not break free from the invisible chains of oppression that keep them from knowing the freedom of the sons of God. I intercede. Lord, you brought me here. And who am I Lord? Just a voice crying out in the wilderness. And I offer them hope. Jesus, the hope of nations. In your name every knee shall bow.

My life is a circle and I see it Lord. Thank you for my story. Thank you for love and compassion that has no other origin to claim but you alone. You are the Source, and history marches on. One day my own story will inspire another to go to the people you have given to them. We possess all things in you. I can not stop praising you for who you are! I am fearfully and wonderfully made for I am your story. I am HIS STORY!

Thank you Father for my brothers, Martin and Frederick, my sisters, Rosa and Harriet and all those along the road. They inspire me. Lord, you have sent us all into a wilderness to proclaim freedom to the captives. Lord, send me. Send me to the oppressed. Show me them as I pray. Let me know their need. Empower me to heal. It is all for your glory and I gladly participate. To know you, O God, is my greatest story. Chapter after chapter in my book of life unfolds and I am overjoyed in the surrounding presence of your love for me. Of course I am loved, I am your child. What a precious creation I am! You wrote this story. I am here Lord. Let me live it!!

In disaster, people are prone to ask “where is God?” I say He is here among us. He is in the call to 911. He is in the person who brings a blanket, the silent prayer of the one left helpless, and in the angry passion of the one demanding justice.

Martin Luther King, Jr. followed that cry for justice. He prophetically declared he would die for the cause. He understood the defining moment of his life. Harriet Tubman’s moment came when she placed herself between Master and slave claiming a piece of her was running with him. She recognized the connected Spirit we share. As a part of her escaped in that run-away slave, she willingly took the blow meant for him. Jesus, you do this for us. Thank you. When we meet our defining moment it fulfills your word “whoever saves his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.” The moment we save our lives, we die.

As King marched on knowing it would be his death, he was responding to the Life within. When we respond to the Everlasting Spirit, it is no longer us writing the script. We begin to walk in the story written about us by a Great Author.

‘Behold, I have come—In the volume of the book it is written of Me—To do Your will, O God.’” (Heb 10:7)

Jesus knew his story. Even so, as his flesh was dying on that cross he cried out, “My God, my God, why has Thou forsaken me?” It is in that darkness we feel most alone, most abandoned and most certainly near death. But morning comes. God did not forsake Jesus, He was with him on that cross. God did not forsake Martin, He was with him dying in Memphis.

In our dark chapters, He is still with us. Look around. He is in someone near to you. Someone is sharing His Light. Open your eyes, He is found in the most unlikely places. Don’t make the mistake of confining Him to church. The body of Christ is no longer nailed to a cross, stop staring at it. He is all around us. We are His hands and feet. What is He calling you to do?

Keep yourself in God’s love, Julie