You have inside of you a story that only you can tell. You think there is zero value to what you have to say. You do not think it matters–that no one cares.
For years I’ve lived with the weight of my bag of stories. I figured some were too dark, too dismal, too shocking to serve any inherent value.
I had bought into a lie. And this isn’t a tiny lie that can be quickly undone. This lie takes root in your heart. It starts out as just a seed. Nothing too threatening about that seed. But soon it grows as a weed among the flowers. Its thorns start choking out all of the beauty.
The lie is this: all that was bad in your life was deserved. There is no room to redeem the aches and hurts endured for good.
But. It’s a lie. And the only way to approach such a lie is to call it out for what it is. For too long you’ve allowed it to masquerade as solid truth, and now you’re pointing straight at it to give it a new label.
A lie. A big, ugly, destructive lie.
You may not know it yet. But you’re a storyteller. Maybe you know your story is there and it has you trembling. Maybe you just don’t believe it’s in you.
But, dear one, how I promise you–it is.
Have a look around. Here you’ll find my stories, the truth about my mortality, and my resources to you to help you make your stories immortal.