Sometimes we hear the phrase, “Tell your story” and I wince. I can’t think of a story to tell that I assume anyone will want to hear.

I read and ingest the words of the troubadours past and present whose candid reflections paint pictures in my mind and draw me in. Their story is etched on a canvas that holds a memory they can see vividly and they let me in.

And I want my words to count. I want them to recount the wonder of God’s mercies replayed in my mind’s eye so that I can smile and sigh… and well, feel like I have radiated something glorious for my King.

And then I see truth. I see that reality meets the living, and to me it doesn’t always look glorious.

He sees things differently than I do. Thankfully.

 he sees the story through mercys lens


There is a winding path traveled from the beginning which keeps time in our book.  It is a retelling of the visits our lives have graced in the pages of history and left their mark.

And then there is a BOOK that keeps names in time.  Its pages are graced with the faithful remnants of those whose lives have been imprinted by the permanent ink with which Mercy’s Pen inscribes.


Proverbs 3:3 says, “ Let not mercy and truth forsake the; bind them about thy neck; write them on the tablet of thine heart.”

This mercy must be written on the tablet of our heart, tattooed for our own eyes to see.



 My story is not as important as HIS story.  My words are empty without first knowing His. My living is fruitless unless it is spilled for Christ. I can make a difference, and I can bless a soul. I can purpose to love, and I can lift a heart. I can meet a need, and I can fill a cup. But without love, what does it matter?

If I have gifts and faith but I don’t have love, I have nothing. ( 1 Cor 13). Without love, my testimony falls short.


When I begin to look back for the testimony to give, I see Mercy staring back at me and I sigh in gratefulness.

So, I look at the stories of my life. The brown eyes that stare back at me, revealing a child blooming into a woman and I realize that is my testimony. She knows the Truth.

I look at an emerging man-to-be, strong and sure… a leader longing to be brave and I know that he is breathing a legacy of my words out to the world.  He speaks Truth.

I hover in appreciation over a sweet  smile on the rosebud face of my growing girl and I know that she is revealing the heart of compassion with the beauty she brings out in others. She shares Truth.

I may not have a grandiose salvation story, but I have one.  He met me.  He saved me.  He brought me out of the bondage and wickedness that living in sin preempts. He taught me tenderly to seek Him through His Word and through prayer, walking with like-minded sisters to show the way. He revealed truths as I bathed my heart in the promises written out for the hungry, seeking life-filling bread, and I was uplifted and encouraged to share it with others.


We all have as story to tell, even if we feel no one wants to hear it.


I have neglected to share a testimony of living for His glory, because I didn’t feel like my story was worth hearing.  But I was wrong.  We all have a story and it all means something to the one who came and bled life for us to come to Him.  I will even wager that it means something to someone else, too.


  • I met Him as a child at the knee of a precious gem. She taught me to pray and she took me to church and she told me she believed.
  • I came again as a woman needing to find hope and peace for the promise of eternal life with One I longed to let love me.
  • I found Him over and over as I bent a knee and pursued Him when my child’s broken body needed healing.
  • I  relied upon His presence as I wrestled with the issues that kept me from stepping out in faith in so many areas of life.
  • I believed that He would meet me in all my insufficiencies, filling me up and strengthening me for the mountainous tasks ahead.
  • I trusted that He would always be near, so that when fear and failure loomed in my natural, His ocean of grace was my swimming pool.


At the end of the day, I realized it wasn’t so much about the story of what my life looked like, or even what He saved me from.  It was whether or not my hope, faith, loving, believing , or trusting made a difference in the life of  even one person.

write out the tale of mercy proverbs 3 3

Our stories make a difference to others.


I wanted to have a testimony that made a difference, but He is the testimony that makes a difference. His faithfulness and His mercy are inscribed on the scroll that is written, at least, that is my hope. I want to look back and see His stamp and seal as trademark of my living.

And I know that my testimony is still being written. The chapters of that book are not yet completed and I still have an opportunity to touch a heart for eternity.

Your mission field needs to see your story typed out in full display.


Your mission field is right in front of you. It is being enlarged every day to include someone who just may need hope restored, light rekindled, and joy rediscovered.  Your testimony is glorious because you are an image-bearer that testifies of love’s record book.

And your story is inevitably linked to someone else’s story. Your joys and your triumphs are a witness of His faithfulness.  In your weaknesses, His strength shined through and in your pain His love radiates.  You can always look back and see the fingerprint of God upon the masterpiece that is you, when you look close enough. That, my friend, is a beautiful story.


Recount the blessings that led you down Mercy’s Road.


I have a challenge for you:  Think of one person who made a difference in your life. Perhaps it was their testimony , either written or living,  that has left an indelible mark upon your heart.  Write it down and record it. What happened next? How did it change what you did afterwards? Can you tell them about it?


I am thinking about the things that I can tell my children, parts of my legacy that will become their own, and I am beginning to see that our testimony each has such a unique and specific purpose that our limited understanding can’t possibly comprehend. So, friend… I dare you.. Shout out your story because I know that I know that I know… it is glorious.




Praying you will hear the words He is whispering as an echo of mercy’s light spilled into your living!

~  Blessings,


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Linking up with other storytellers in this journey of mercy and grace:

Lyli @ Thought Provoking  Thursdays, Jennifer @ #TellHisStory, Holley @ Coffee for Your Heart, Carmen @ Thriving Thursdays, Laura @ Missional Women, and Julie @ Fellowship Fridays.