She worried about telling her story,
She worried it would not inspire.
She worried about sharing so much of herself,
And the honesty that it would require.
Others had gone before her
With stories so moving and fierce.
And though she knew knew better than to compare
Still she worried with eyes full of tears.
Why should I tell my story? She pleaded.
What does it have to add?
A story without a brave heroine;
A story, not moving or sad.
She thought of stories she’d heard all her life
Of characters so brave and true:
Testimonies of God’s faithfulness
And all that He’d brought them through.
All stories have a main character
The One who directs the plot.
Was she the one who guided her story?
And then she realized, she was not.
She was simply an instrument
To play His beautiful song.
He was the one to write her story,
She just had to sing along.
So she told others of her story
And though she still felt small,
She finally learned to embrace her story
Because it wasn’t her story, after all.