Our experiences completely define who we become; not because they themselves evoke change, rather it is our reaction or perhaps lack thereof that either allows the potter’s hands to mold us into the creation we were always meant to be or chooses to remain the pile of mud we have always been.
In so many ways, I’d love to wish my experiences upon you, so that you could see what I see, hear what I hear, understand the way my little brain interprets life, and know deep within your soul that your Creator took the time to form you.
Although, it is apparent that no matter how extraordinary, frightening, moving, incredible, or horrific the pieces of our lives may be, we can’t fully rely the same experience upon each other by simply recounting our own stories. We have to get our own hands dirty to realize when we need to wash them just as we have to suffer through the virus to become immune to it later. I have found that I cannot understand the complexity of the experiences of others, without the ability to personally relate to their sense of humanity. Therefore, I cannot expect you or anyone else to “just believe me.” For the first time, I think I understand why Jesus taught in parables*, like no one before Him.
