1.12.2016

Storytelling. Share your story.

I started this blog 5 and a half years ago with no intention of anyone ever reading it, I just needed to get some stuff out and it was a way of sharing my story.

At the time, I was telling my story constantly, everyone wanted to know my story (or at least the part of my story that got me on prime time news on multiple news channels. The "Local girl survived the earthquake in Port Au Prince, Haiti".) Churches wanted me to share about what God was doing and how I saw God working. Schools wanted me to come and talk to their students about my story. I told my story all the time...

...how I was in an unfamiliar country after a mission trip after my team had returned to the U.S, and through a strange turn of events I was volunteering for a few days at a burn clinic until I returned to the states...
...how we had gone to visit a school in the morning and it was just like any other day...
...how I took an afternoon siesta and was awoken by vigorous shaking...
...how I tried to get down off my bunk bed and ended up pretty much getting thrown to the ground and not being able to get my feet back under me again...
...how after the shaking stopped I reached for my phone to text my mom and say nonchalantly, "well, I think I just experienced my first earthquake." But I didn't have any signal...
...how I had no idea that what would transpire over the next 72 or so hours would cause me to tremble and cry and nearly shut down completely every time anything shook or rumbled around me....
...how I had no idea the magnitude of what had happened until I realized I didn't have signal and I looked up and listened...
...how I could see the huge cloud of ash covering Port au Prince and I could hear screams in the distance...
...how the next couple of days I worked in the clinic that became a hospital...
...how I assisted with a brain surgery without anesthesia, I scraped debris from a woman's head and face and filled a bucket with what I removed....
...how I cared for burns that were worse than I ever care to see again...
...how I worked on a woman for hours and hours until finally holding her head in my lap as she took her last breath...
...how I wept for her soul, when I realized it should have been me who didn't make it, me who knows Jesus and knows who holds my future, but I had no idea what her future held.
...I shared my story of how when I tried to sleep and closed my eyes all I could see were the people I had worked all day in the clinic on, and I could still feel the ground shaking about every 20 minutes. Each time imagining the roof falling on me and inflicting one of the wounds I had just spent hours tending to.

*this post includes an email written to my dad that day during the most raw moment of my entire life to date*

For about 6 months I shared my story constantly, people wanted to "grab coffee", hear about my story, and know what they could do. I told them about Haiti, and about that time, about how my experiences were making me excited to go to nursing school one day. But I don't think I told many people that I struggled with severe guilt because I survived. I didn't tell them that even 6 months later I would wake up crying when the train would go by my house at 3a.m. and my bed would shake (which I had never noticed before in the 4 years of living in that same room), They didn't know I called my mom every Monday afternoon like clockwork sobbing so hard I could barely breathe because I just couldn't do another Monday because that meant it was a whole week until the weekend when I could drive home and sit on the couch with my mom and dad and just cry if I needed to. I didn't share that part of my story with everyone. Some people knew some parts of it, but most didn't.

I've been thinking a lot about my story recently, about how I always want people to know the good stuff. Like I said, I started this blog almost as therapy, 6 months after the earthquake and the amount of people who cared about the earthquake in Haiti drastically diminished. I needed some sort of outlet, and I was able to share my story here. I just sat down and would write. Whatever came out wherever the words led me, much like I'm doing tonight. Then, after a while I would start "writing" all the time, in my head, just waiting till I could get to the computer to dump it all out. My story changed, I moved back to Haiti, I lived there, I blogged all the time, I figured people cared, I cared, I wasn't busy, I didn't have any reason not to write. Then my story changed again and I totally stopped writing, I had all the reasons not to write, I frequently wished that I wrote more, but now I have this weird feeling that my writing needs to be edited, clean, and flow nicely, but most of all it needs to be interesting. I think that prevents me from even sitting down to write. My mundane life isn't interesting to anyone else, so at the expense of my mental health sometimes, I don't write because I don't feel like my thoughts are important enough to be solidified in the internet stratosphere forever.

But this time of year always brings reflection, probably because of the new year and everyone wants a "fresh start". I always think about a fresh start, and wouldn't that be nice, but really I just want to keep living my ever changing story. The earthquake was my story 6 years ago today. It still is my story, but there is a lot more to my story now too, and I'm realizing that all of it needs to be shared.

I've been thinking about my story recently because I've been thinking about Peggy's story. Peggy is our dog, we adopted her about two weeks ago. She is about 5 years old, white and brown German shorthaired pointer. She loves to play fetch and will play for 3 hours straight if you let her. She snores when she sleeps and dances when we come home, she stands on her two back feet when she's too short to see stuff and its stupid how cute she is. Daniel and I just love her and think she's adorable all the time, except when she pees on our rug. Peeing on rug = not adorable. When I look at Peg I see her story in her eyes. I know its there. She's lived a tough life, she's been a mom, she's been out on the street, and I don't think she has always belonged to a family who loves her. I am always learning about her. I wish she could tell me her story while I pet her super soft ears. I wish she could tell me how she got that scar and tear on her left ear and why she walks with a limp sometimes. I love her and I don't know her story. Dan and I love her right where she is, peeing on the rug and all. I wonder how much life she has lived and why that makes her act the way she does. I want to know her story, but knowing it won't make me love her any more or less. However, knowing might help me to love her better.

(I know you are all dying to see a pic of Peg, so here you go!)


I think so often I am scared to tell my story, not just about the earthquake, but about my job, my marriage, my faith, my insecurities, my hopes and dreams. I'm worried about what people might think, that they might see I don't have it all instagram filtered perfectly, or that they will think my story is boring. I like to think I don't really have those fears, but I think I do. I think that, among other reasons is why I haven't written in so long, or why I only write seldomly. But recently I've been so comforted by knowing that when I share my story, whatever it is, whatever is going on with me right then, it won't make people love me any more or less, but it might help them to know me better, and I might be able to love THEM better too by sharing.


So that's my encouragement for the day. Share your story. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
My story today is so different than my story 6 years ago, but I wouldn't change any of it, I pray that I will just keep on living my story, and sharing my story as it comes along.

LinkWithin

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...