You know that movie Stranger Than Fiction? The one where the main character, Harold Crick, hears a narration in his daily life and thinks he is going crazy. He comes to find out that this writer has written this amazing story for his life.
“Little did he know that this simple, seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.”
Harold hears this as he is waiting for the bus. Imagine if someone were narrating your life and told you that you were going to die. We would probably react in the same way Harold did.
I’m currently reading A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. I am a huge fan of his and have absolutely loved every single book I’ve read of his. He has this simple way of writing that you take right to heart.
I was reading the other day and this passage stuck out to me:
“I feel written. My skin feels written, and my desires feel written. My sexuality was a word spoken by God, that I would be male, and I would have brown hair and brown eyes and come from a womb. It feels literary, doesn’t it, as if we are characters in books.
“You can call it God or conscience, or you can dismiss it as that intuitive knowing we all have as human beings, as living storytellers; but there is a knowing I feel that guides me toward better stories, toward being a better story for us, interacting with us, even, and whispering a better story into our conscience.
“As a kid, the only sense I got from God was guilt, something I dismiss as a hypersensitive conscience I got from being raised in a church with a controlling pastor. But that isn’t the Voice I’m talking about. That voice really was the leftover hypersensitive conscience I got from being raised in a church with a controlling pastor.
“The real voice is stiller and smaller and seems to know, without confusion, the difference between right and wrong and the subtle delineation between the beautiful and profane. It’s not an agitated voice, but ever patient as though it approves a million false starts. The Voice I am talking about is a deep water of calming wisdom that says, Hold your tongue; don’t talk about that person that way; forgive the friend you haven’t talked to; don’t look at that woman as a possession; I want to show you the sunset; look and see how short life is and how your troubles are not worth worrying about; buy that bottle of wine and call your friend and see if he can get together because, remember, he was supposed to have that conversation with his daughter, and you should ask him about it.
“So as I was writing my novel, and as my characters did want he wanted, I became more and more aware that somebody was writing me. So I started calling it the Voice and admitting there was a writer. I admitted something other than me was showing a better way. And when I did this, I realized the Voice, the Writer who was not me, was trying to make a better story, a more meaningful series of experiences I could live through.
“At first, even though I could feel God writing something different, I’d play the scene the way I wanted. This never worked. It would have always been better to obey the Writer, the one who knows the better story. I’d talk poorly about somebody and immediately know I’d done it because I was insecure, and I’d know I was a weak character who was just jealous and undisciplined.”
-Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years
First of all, I wish that I had thought of my life like that a really long time ago. If I did I think my life would look completely different.
I think when you think of your life this way, knowing that someone is writing you and only wants the best for you, you would live your life a different way.
I’m really stubborn.
I like to do what I want to do when I want to do it and I don’t like to do things that I don’t want to do. I know the difference between right and wrong. I know what Jesus’ love looked like and that I need to share it with others, but most of the time I ignore the Voice in my head telling me what I need to do because I’m stubborn.
Today, for example, Abby and I were at the fruit stand and Abby was buying some fruit. As I was standing outside, waiting for her, I saw a little old man that caught my attention. He was one of those cute little old men that you want to pick up and put in your pocket. He passed by me and sat on the sidewalk. A voice inside me said, “Molly, buy him an orange and give it to him.”
I fought with this Voice for a while. I really thought it was just me being weird because I thought the little old man was cute. I told myself that maybe he doesn’t need an orange. Maybe he’s not poor because he has bags in his hands. No. I’m not going to buy an orange. I’m not going to do it.
I fought with myself for a good two minutes. As I walked by the man on the way back to the hostel I noticed that he was begging.
Dangit.
I failed. I knew that it was God’s voice to tell me to buy an orange for that man. I didn’t listen and even told myself that I didn’t need to. Why do I do this?
I read this passage again and understood.
God is my author, and he wants to write a good story for me. Actually, not just a good story, a great story. He wants me to listen to him because it’s part of His plan, and every single time I ignore it or fight with it, it lessens the greatness of my story.
I need to constantly remind myself of this. God’s story of my life is the one I want to live because I know if I put my own story together no one is going to want to listen to it. It’s not going to be great because I can’t do that on my own.
Your life is a story.
What has God written for you?
