I used to think that I didn’t have a good enough story. That my life just hadn’t been hard enough up to this point. When I worked for the church I met people from broken and abusive homes, people recovering from various addictions, people who at one point were homeless or starving and many more. All of their stories were so compelling, how God pulled them (usually through another christian or through the work of a church) out of their otherwise helpless situation and turned their lives around. He literally saved their lives, he rescued them. In many people’s stories there is not a logical explanation as to why they are alive today, the reason is that God preformed a miracle to save their lives when they needed him the most.
Well that always made me jealous…
My story was not nearly as exciting.
It did not involve drugs, abuse, sex, starvation or destitution.
In my mind, I had a good “easy” life, there was nothing miraculous about me being “saved”
At the point in which I felt this way, my story would go something like this:
someone would ask “So S* how did you become a Christian?” or “S* why do you feel called to ministry?”
and I would answer
“Well, I grew up going to church (southern baptist church to be specific) in Southwestern Michagan. My Dad worked for a ministry there called “Life Action Ministries” and we were very active in church. I grew up going to VBS camp in the summer, and going to AWANA on Wednesday nights. I was “saved” when I was about 6 or so baptized when I was 10 years old, and spent much of my childhood memorizing verses for “Bible Drills” and preforming in “Psalty the singing songbook” musicals. Then when we moved to Florida when I was 14, I lost all my friends from Michigan and got depressed, my mom had to force me to get involved in Youth group to try and make some friends (It should also be noted at this time that I was also homeschooled so I couldn’t make friends at school because well I was related to all of them and I was at that age that I didn’t really like my siblings at all *and by didn’t like…I mean I loathed all 4 of them*) But I still had trouble getting to know people and started to fall into the “wrong crowd” aka the kids who “didn’t listen” or were “disruptive” during the sermon on sunday morning. Anyway, they (my parents) encouraged me to get more involved with the “good kids” at Youth group. So I did, and I ended up going on a missions trip the next summer. While I was there, I felt God calling me to missions, and so I committed my life to serving him through missions. During my High school years I tried to run away from that calling, I made friends with people who were not interested in God at all, and started going to parties (but not really ever drinking lol), but I was miserable. The harder I tried to run away the more miserable I became. So much so, that I began “huffing spray paint” because I wanted to feel free from everything. Well my mother soon caught on, and stopped all of that nonsense…she pretty much scared me straight. So after that I looked into College and seminary to find the place I felt God was leading. I landed at Southeastern University in Florida, and spent “the best 4 years of my life” there learning theology, biblical history, and ministry. That was where I discovered my calling for Youth ministry…and that is pretty much it”
ugh…
I know…yawn…lol
About 4 years ago I met a girl with an epic story.
She was from an abusive home, had been with an abusive boyfriend, had been addicted to drugs, had been raped, had been in a “should have been fatal” car went off a cliff accident and had been taking care of herself/struggling to make it work since she was 16.
She and I became very close…
We shared our stories over many many cups of coffee, and countless cigarettes.
We learned everything there was to know about each other…
and pretty soon, we because important parts of each other’s stories (but that is a subject for a different time)
She and I were talking one night, and I was telling her about some difficult stuff I was going though, and as I’m sitting there crying and telling her how hard all of this (whatever it was) was for me, she said to me “you know S* you need to grow up, its not that difficult, I’ve been through x…y…and z…which is way more difficult than what you are going through…man I’ve been taking care of my own shit since I was 16, How old are you? oh yeah thats right your 25, get it together”
Now in reality it probably wasn’t that harsh…but that is what I heard.
I realized something during that conversation, and subsequent conversations after both with her and with others.
The most difficult thing in my life, is probably going to be a piece of cake for someone else…but that does not make it any less difficult for me.
and vise versa.
people tell me all the time how brave I am for going through with my transition, for changing my gender, and for being so open about it. And usually I laugh it off…because while it is not always easy…its not exactly hard for me either, it is just something i have to do, something I have to deal with, but it is totally worth it.
To someone else though, it could be completely impossible. It could be never in a million years difficult.
Just because it is relatively easy for me, doesn’t mean it will be for someone else.
What I am getting at with all of these stories and ramblings is this simple truth…
You cannot judge someone else’s difficulties through a filter of your own life experience.
Its not fair, and its not right.
You can empathize through personal experience, yes…in fact that is an extremely important part of human connection. But obviously Judgement and Empathy are two totally different things.
Unfortunately we seem to confuse them quite commonly.
*lets get on that people…shall we?*
That would be like a swimmer making fun of someone who cannot swim for being afraid of the deep end of a pool.
which seems ridiculous and quite frankly kind of mean. don’t you think?
So please don’t be like me, don’t let someone else’s experience, discredit your own. Your story is uniquely yours. Your struggles, and your difficulties are just as valid as any other human being’s trials, so please don’t ever feel guilty for feeling like they are fucking hard to deal with. Know that you are a valid and worthwhile person and your story is worth telling.
So go out and share it…
From S to J 