Tell Me your story, show Me your wounds
And I’ll show you what Love sees when Love looks at you
Hand Me the pieces, broken and bruised
And I’ll show you what Love sees when Love sees you…
I see your story, I see My name
Written on every beautiful page
You see the struggle, you see the shame
I see the reason I came
Mac Powell, When Love Sees You
Sometimes when I look back on my relatively short life so far, I only see the broken and bruised pieces. I see the days swallowed by darkness and the nights lost in sleepless tossing and turning, I see my own staring eyes and weary limbs. I see a story which hurt to write and hurts to read.
I don’t think that’s how God sees my story, and I don’t think that’s how God sees yours.
God sees you.
All of you, all you’ve been through and all of your character, and He sees the reason He sent Jesus to walk through an earth and taste the darkest of human life so that we might see some of the light of heaven.
The story I live in isn’t a fairy tale. I write about mental illness, not as a fleeting moment in my past, but in the present tense as I navigate what it means to live within my restrains but hoping in a God who has none.
When we see the scars, God sees the healing.
When we see the shame, God covers it in His grace.
We can offer our stories because we can trust in the Author.
We need to offer our stories because we need to show that there is more to our stories than mental illness.
We may have a mental health condition, but we are friends, workers, spouses, parents and much more besides.
So as we offer our stories, let’s put the chapters into context.
Mental illness is a part of my story – but it’s not the whole story.
It may be a part of your story, but you are so much more.