- Pray. Ask God to help you remember. Thank Him for bringing you through those months of transition, for bringing you to where you are, for the things you learned along the way. If you’re in the middle of a transition, thank Him for that opportunity too, and thank Him in advance for walking through it with you.
- Sit with a paper and a pen or a computer. Close your eyes and remember for a moment. What was it like when you stepped off the plane, boat, or bus back into your “home” country? What did you feel? What did you fear? Remember those first few weeks and months. What situations stick out to you? Who was there? Where were you? Describe the setting. Describe the characters. Describe your emotions. How does the outside situation reflect the emotional conflict inside you?
- Did you keep a journal? Pick it up. Leaf through leaving, moving, entering. What sentences stick out to you? Which verses did you keep coming back to?
- Flip through photo albums. Remember. Which pictures evoke the most emotions in you? Why? What was going on in the picture? What was going on inside you? What were your conversations with God like at the time?
- Find a computer and open Google Earth. “Fly” around the world and open your memories with a perspective you might not have seen before.
- Sit down with a friend—maybe another MK, maybe just a friend. Talk about what it was like those first few months (or maybe you’re in those first few months). What comes up in your conversation?
Usually, the best stories do not come out of the moments when we’re sitting on our beds, pining for something. The best stories come unexpectedly in those moments where someone says something that hits the emotion inside. Or where the setting is too awkward and unsettling because the comparison with where you are and where you were is stark and obvious. The best stories involve an internal and external conflict coming together at the same time.
For example, I remember visiting my friend Becca shortly after I returned from Bolivia. Becca and I went to the grocery store, and she was to shop for vegetables while I picked out some cereal. In rural Bolivia, I had maybe five choices for cereal, and out of those, I had my two favorites. In this small grocery store in Indiana, there was an entire aisle of cereal boxes. An entire aisle. Two steps into the aisle, I panicked. How was I going to choose? Why were there so many choices? How come everything was so BIG? Why did we need so many choices? How come there was so much here and not there? Why do we need four million kinds of Cheerios? Everything I had been thinking about the States between the plane and the grocery store climaxed in the cereal aisle, and I could walk no farther. I saw a familiar box: Kellogg’s Raisin Bran. Grabbed it. Found Becca. Followed her through her vegetable choices… I could make no more.
I had a few other moments like this, but none as
paralyzing as that moment in the cereal aisle. About a week after this, my
journal records the main passage of a sermon as Psalm 46 and “Be still and know
that I am God.” The words, “Be Still” are written in large letters. I fought
for stillness. I fought to hear God’s voice in the middle of all the choices.
He is God in the middle of all the cereal choices. I
didn’t have to want to make the cereal choice or understand why there were so
many different cereals. I simply wanted the panic to go away. Somehow, by
remembering that He is God (and I am not), allowed me to put the cereal choices
and my panic in His hands. I repeated that verse over and over to myself all
that summer… and after a tough
day, I still quote Psalm 46:10 to myself. There is something calming about the
command to be still because He is God.
The word count for this italicized example is 343. I can now
revise it a time or two in order to whittle it down to 300 words. Maybe I could
rewrite the grocery store scene into a conversation Becca and I had, or maybe
make the ending realization easier to understand. It’s a scene—you can see the
character standing in the cereal aisle and the readers can connect that moment
of panic to similar moments in their lives.
We want this book to be a book of stories from your lives
that give God the credit for leading you through the challenges of transition.
As an incarnate God, He meets us in funny places: in cereal aisles, in the
limbs of a tree, in a hospital bed, in the words of a friend, on roller skates,
in the hall at school. We want to hear about those places, and relive with you
the faithfulness of our God. In this way, we can encourage each other by
telling our stories.
So get writing! You may find that you write several pages
before you actually find the scene you want to use. You don’t need to use
everything. Don’t get discouraged. If you start writing and a little voice
says, “That’s stupid,” tell the voice to go away. You’re not Michelangelo, and
the piece of paper in front of you isn’t the Sistine Chapel. It’s a piece of
paper. You can throw it away later if you don’t like it. There’s no pressure,
so the “stupid voice” has no control. Something good will come out of your
writing soon, even if you think it’s stupid at first. You and God made it
through those first few months, so you have something to say.
And we want to hear about it!
As C.S. Lewis says, “We read to know we are not alone.” In
this case, we’re writing to let others know that they’re not alone. And in the
process of writing, we’re remembering that God is on our journeys with us even
now.
Send your stories and verses to mkdevotional (at) gmail (dot) com.