STORIES OF HOPE
Stories are vital to community. They are how we connect and learn about who we are, why we’re here and how we belong. Story preserves history and elicits laughter. It plunges us to the depths of ourselves and sets us soaring across the skies.
Yet writing our stories can be challenging.
Where do we start? What do we write? Will anyone care? Does it even matter?
Storytelling has, in some ways, become a lost art in this sound-bite technology age. But have you ever considered that those of us with chronic illness are blessed to move more slowly, to have the gift of time to rekindle this lost art?
Through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, there are many ways to share our stories – in writing, through music and art, in drama and photography, by talking one-on-one or in audio and podcast formats.
For story is where hope begins.
It is the tale of our lives, connecting us to one another and shattering isolation.
As we express the stories of our lives, our perspective shifts and we begin to see from a distance what we were unable to see in the moment.
If you’ve ever thought about sharing your story, we’d love to help. We’ve created thoughtful questions and helpful tips to get you started. But remember, these are only a place to begin.
This is your story.
We welcome your submissions.
Writing the Story of Your Illness
We can feel isolated and powerless when living with chronic illness, but what if your story begins to bridge those barriers? What if your story begins a conversation? Opens a door for someone to connect, to feel less isolated and alone? What if your story offers a glimmer of hope to someone standing at the edge of hopelessness?
What if your story starts the conversation?
Click here for a great resource to help you write the story of your illness.
Pamela Piquette and Cindee Snider Re never imagined what purpose God had for a friendship that started in the least likely way. They were initially brought together through their boys who couldn’t get along. Through those encounters, Pamela and Cindee started building a friendship. They were...READ MORE
She stood on the threshold wearing a red dress, her chopped hair topped with a big chiffon bow customary for little Russian girls. Holding the hand of the orphanage director, she looked across the room where I sat on a red couch in front of a wall of windows covered with sheer white drapes. The...READ MORE
The phone rang. It was 3am. “Hello?” “Mom,” my son Sam said so quietly I almost couldn’t hear him, “can you come get me?” Eight months earlier, Sam had walked across the stage in cap and gown, head held high, a smile playing at the edges of his lips and accepted his high school diploma. In...READ MORE