A Childhood of Stories
I’ve loved reading for as long as I can remember.
When we were kids growing up, my mother required my brother Tommy and me to read books during summer break. Every week she’d drive us to the public library, and each of us had to check out a book. The rule was simple: if you didn’t read your book that week, you didn’t get to play.
Since our home was out in the country, far from other kids, Tommy and I were each other’s only playmates. Which meant that if one of us didn’t read, the other one played alone.
It was a brilliant strategy, and it worked. By the end of every summer, we had each read a small stack of books. Because of Mom’s insistence, I fell in love with reading.
Though I must confess—I didn’t love reading my school books. I was a poor student, easily bored in class. My saving grace was that I could learn by listening. If the teacher explained it the next day, I usually “got it,” even if I hadn’t cracked a book.
One year in Algebra class, I started writing a story during the daily lectures. Every day I’d open my notebook, the one that was supposed to hold my math notes—and continue my little project.
Eventually, a friend sitting nearby asked what I was writing. I told him it was just a made-up story to give me something to do. After class, he and his girlfriend begged me to let them read it. Reluctantly, I handed over my notebook.
They read it quietly, and when the girl finished, she looked up and said,
“You wrote this in class? Steve, this is amazing. I love it. I want to know what happens next.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I was embarrassed. I wanted to be accepted and liked, yet I never felt comfortable with compliments. Strange combination, isn’t it?
Unfinished Things, Grace, and Hope
I never finished that story. But I remember it vividly, because it wasn’t the only thing I failed to finish. Some of those things didn’t matter. Others did.
What do we do with the unfinished things in our lives?
The dreams started but never completed…
The words written but never spoken…
The callings felt but never pursued?
I’m no psychologist, but I’ve learned a few things about regret, but thankfully, also grace and hope. I’ve learned that unfinished things don’t define us—they remind us…they remind us that God’s work in us isn’t finished either.
I have anchored my life around three non-negotiable things: my relationship with God in Jesus Christ, my wife and family, and the call of God on my life. Those three are my “true north.” Everything else orbits around them.
It wasn’t always that way. Before I surrendered my heart to Jesus, I was the center of my life—what I wanted, needed, and desired. Yet despite having what I thought I wanted, I was still empty. Always reaching. Always longing.
Looking back, I see now—that emptiness was the gentle pull of Heaven, drawing me home.
And when I think about that, I am amazed. Why would a God so holy and pure care about someone like me?
The Author Who Never Stops
Our lives, yours and mine, and all those we come into contact with on a daily basis, are a collection of unfinished stories—yet God, the Author and Finisher of our faith, never stops writing. As Jesus said, “My Father is always working.”
Even when we lose our way, His grace picks up the pen.
Even when our chapters stall, His hand still moves across the page.
And what He begins, He will bring to completion.
So whatever chapter you’re in today, trust Him.
Your story isn’t over yet.
I am convinced and confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will [continue to] perfect and complete it until the day of Christ Jesus [the time of His return]. — Philippians 1:6 (AMP)