So I would be straight up wrong not to thank all who gave up ten minutes of their time to read this vulnerable clutter of words that I call my story. Now trust me, I am completely aware of how out of character this is; I am not oblivious to the fact that a lot of you clicked the link because you expected some witty bash of a social system. Trust me, I am the same angsty mess that dropped my sorority because they wanted me to cut my music festival bracelets off. That’s the cool thing about stories; the character that makes the story worth reading is normally the angsty mess, the antagonist, if you will. It just so happens that I am the antagonist of my story.

*drum roll*

Let's start with the foundation of this story. I grew up in the Church, which is a cliché statement, but the funny thing about an individual being in the Church is that it rarely implies that said individual is living AS the Church. But I loved being in the Church, man. If you know anything about me, it’s that I want to help others, to lead others. I wanted a story to inspire others so badly. I think an underrated aspect of having a well-developed testimony is that the development normally involves some legit hurting, which at the time, certainly does not feel worth the charming little testimony you get from it. People don’t understand that until they have hurt. I didn’t understand that until I had hurt.I was so focused on trying to make myself a nice story for others to respect that I totally missed the core of a relationship with God. Love. I knew that I was supposed to love God and supposed to love others, but I didn’t even love my own life that I was given, so how the heck was I going to love anyone else?

May of my junior year in high school, my dad experiences a major “medical mistake” while in a minor surgery. June of my junior year in high school, I’m sitting at his funeral. I never experienced any emotion on such a large scale as I did in those three weeks. I never relied on anyone else like I did in those three weeks. I never loved like I did in those three weeks. I’m not just talking love for my dying dad and hurting family, but man I loved The Lord, The Healer, The Comforter with such vulnerability, holy cow. The emotions I was feeling? Not sadness or despair, but FAITH like no other. My pastor would come and pray for “comfort” and garbage like that, which really just lit a flame under me to passionately trust in Him for healing, despite all the hopeless medical charts, doctors, and even believers around me. I fell in love with the awesome story I would have once God miraculously healed my dad.

As you can guess, this raging hope fueled some resentment in me after I lost my dad. I was done with “The Healer”. The passionate feelings of faith and hope turned to passionate feelings of distrust and hatred. The story that I desperately wanted no longer mattered to me. My story was one word: hurt. I was forced to go to a conference with my youth group a month later. Seeing all the other millennials worshiping was like a punch to the gut: How could they not see all the pain that God allowed? How could God let them feel such peace and leave me out in the dark? What even is the point?

This victim mentality has continued for years now, even though I rarely show it. I eventually decided that I needed peace to be happy… to heal. This desperate search for peace led to a “suck it up” mindset. I was not allowed to be vulnerable because it was time to move on. The peace I was looking for was “immediate healing,” which does not exist, people!! If anyone reading this is hurting, I need you to hear this over any of the other crap I spout out: HEALING IS A LIFESTYLE. If God just magically granted us with this magical peace over all our hurt one day, we would totally miss the beauty in the hurt. There would be no story.

I recently saw Kathryn Wolf speak at Passion Conference, whose whole life is centered on the message “Hope Heals.” She experienced a nearly fatal stroke years ago and has been living with half of a paralyzed body and many emotional scars, since. This woman exudes joy. She told the audience “a broken story doesn’t mean the story is over, in fact, it is just beginning.” This woman is crazy!! She took this horrific, unpredictable, life-altering suffering and only saw OPPORTUNITY. Dude there is opportunity in every good, bad, and ugly thing that happens to you… but will you see the opportunity for a beautiful story, vulnerable friendships, and pure reliance on Him or victimize yourself? This woman is living proof that HURT IS A BEAUTIFUL OPPORTUNITY FOR LIFE.

If you are still reading at this point that means that you probably want to hear the big secret to the healing of your hurting. Full disclosure: there is no secret. You won’t be fixed after hearing my story. You know what fixes? What heals? Hope. Hope is excitement about life. Hope is deciding that you are victorious over hurt. Hope is a decision, man. Once you can see hope past the hurt and beauty in the hurt, you adapt into a lifestyle of healing. And a lifestyle of healing not only walks out the image of what the Church should look like when hashtag life hits but man it makes life worth living to the FULLEST. The thing about someone healing is that they love in a different way, and they see the hope in life in a different way. I am much more aware of the beauty in life and the beauty in every last person now than I was before that attention to beauty (also known as hope) was taken from me. It’s a whole new Relationship with not only God but with life. I AM ALIVE.

Another thing: hurt is different for everyone. No less or more, just different; so if you have experienced suffering of any kind, know that there is healing to come, but only when you accept that you are not a victim; you are a VICTOR through what the Cross completed so long ago. No mo victim mentality for anyone reading because life is truly beautiful. I heard once that the most powerful words in any language are “I am…” Whatever you put behind those words is what you will be contributing to the world, and I am VICTORIOUS, so I choose to live that way.

So returning to the most important part of my story: me. I was the antagonist because I accepted myself as the victim. I was so hurt that God allowed me to suffer that I missed out on God allowing something way larger than any hurt: hope. I saw no opportunity in any of the pain I was feeling, but now as I am embracing the hope in Christ, I am starting to grasp not only how beautiful He is, and how beautiful life is, but how beautiful I am. My story is beautiful, and so is yours; don’t ever forget that.