The unfolding of your words gives light;
it imparts understanding to the simple.
Psalm 119:130

I’m not ready to tell you the whole story yet, but that’s because the whole story hasn’t been written yet, quite literally. But I will tell you this: 
My whole life has never been handed to me. It has been tug of war since I first spoke, at nine or ten months old and less than 16 pounds soaking wet. I have yanked and wrenched and it has yanked and wrenched right back. If I asked for something, it was certain to be withheld and if I didn’t ask, it was even more certain to be never mine. 
I learned to stop asking, stop expecting, and grow accustomed to disappointment. I learned to eat crumbs, while still looking longingly at feasts and I learned that the gnawing in my belly would never be satisfied while others grew fat on their spoils. I learned that some would have fairy tales and family reunions and I would not. 
That is the first part of the story. That part has already been written and I would not change a single thing in it if I could. 
I sat on my living room floor the other night and shared a bit of my story with some new friends who felt like home, and I know the part of my story that causes people’s hearts to fall and their shoulders to drop and so I am quick, so quick to say: Wait! No! That seems like a horrible thing to have happened, but let me tell you what God has done.
Here is what God has done:
He has taken the weak things of the world, 
The shameful things, 
The broken things, 
The death-filled things, 
The pain, 
The fears, 
The frustrations, 
The crumbs
And He has said, Hey, kid, I’ve done that to show how deep and how wide and how far I will go to show you my love. 
I’ve done that so that you will know that nothing can satisfy like Me. 
This week, friends, these past few weeks, I have seen unvoiced dreams begin to unfurl themselves. I have seen unasked-for desires begin to curl close to me. I have seen the marked hand of God pulling me in, and pushing me on a pathway that I learned long ago to never dream of walking. 
And today, in my car, running an errand for work, in a week that is so busy and so pressing that I am afraid of being undone, I am overcome by how good He is. How faithful He is to His word. How He always finishes what He starts. How He is bigger and better than all the feasts I once envied. How He is the main character in the story, and not me, with all my yanking and wrenching. 
So, one day, maybe soon, maybe not, you’ll hear the whole story. But for now? For today? 
He is the whole story.