telling stories

I’m part of that branch of God’s family that doesn’t express itself well. We Calvinists have been called dour, and there’s no doubt we’re on the whole private and not give to excessive displays of emotion. So I don’t talk a lot about the things I’ve seen God do, but I need to.

Judges 2:7, 10-11 states why. “The people served the Lord throughout the lifetime of Joshua and of the elders who outlived him and who had seen all the great things the Lord had done for Israel. . . . After that whole generation had been gathered to their ancestors, another generation grew up who knew neither the Lord nor what he had done for Israel. Then the Israelites did evil in the eyes of the Lord and served the Baals.”

If we don’t tell our stories, how will our kids and grandkids know that God is real? How will new believers dare to have faith in this God that the rest of the world laughs at or has declared dead? If they don’t hear that God lives and loves from us, won’t they too serve something else?

There’s nothing in my life to compare to Noah’s Ark or the feeding of 5,000, but it is a consistent record of a faithful God who has never failed to keep his promises. It’s a story of a thousand small and not-so-small provisions that could be called luck but actually answered prayers. It’s a story of protection and deliverance and providence and blessing. Most of all, it’s a story of how I came to be so much better even though at heart I’m a weak, self-centered person.

Those are all God things, much as I hate the phrase. But if I don’t tell people that, especially people who didn’t see me at my neediest, they won’t know what God did. He won’t get the glory, so they’ll follow some other thing.

Verse 10 above says, “ . . . another generation grew up who neither knew the Lord nor what he had done . . .” May that never be true of my tribe.