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The Story of My Life

 
Last week, my husband and I took a day trip over to Sarasota for the Ringling Museum. If you haven’t been, I highly recommend it. Mr. and Mrs. Ringling–yes, I’m talking about the circus folks–purchased 20 acres of waterfront property in the early 1900s and built a home there. Well, it’s really a mansion, and oh what a mansion!

 

The Ringlings loved art, and they built an impressive art collection over the years.

 

 

As my husband and I walked the 21-gallery art museum, we saw scenes of people’s lives.

  • Biblical.
  • Historical.
  • Fictional.
  • Everyday people.

StoryLife

 

Each painting or tapestry was distinct. But all told a story.

  • A snapshot in time.
  • A turning point  in someone’s life.
  • A story of the person’s life.

 

 

 

I got to wondering–as I often do… What’s the story of my life? If an artist wanted to tell others about me, what would he paint, draw, sculpt, or weave? I just couldn’t shake that thought as I took in each of the paintings throughout the day.

 

What is the story of your life? Think about it. What would you want an artist to portray about you?

 

My husband and I talked about this on our way home. I’ll share my story, and he’ll share his in the comments. But I wanted to start us off with my painting, my tapestry, my story.

 

I see a house–my house. The scene outside is rather dark, and as you approach the house, it is warmly lit. People–adults and kids alike–are walking up to the house worn and weary. Some are looking behind them as they run to my home. Others are leaving the house. They’re smiling, standing tall, healthy.

 

You can look inside the house through the front windows and see people–lots of them– sitting all around the front room. On the sofa, on the floor, on chairs. They’re huddled together, blankets over each person’s shoulders. There is some activity in and out of the other rooms, but the central focus is on the front room. All face in one direction–toward a cozy plantation chair in the corner. I am sitting on that chair reading to them from the Bible. Other books are on my lap. My eyebrows are raised, and I have smile on my face, as I lean in to tell them what appears to be good news.

 

The title of the painting is, “The Comfort Station.” (I actually have a sign in my house today.) The subtitle is, “Comforting others with the comfort she received from God (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).”

 

That’s how I would like to be remembered. That is the story of my life.

 

Come alongside… What is the story of your life? Share it with us. Invite your friends to share their stories. 

 

(Remember… January is book giveaway month. The more you comment below, the more chances you have to win a copy of my new book, Women of the Secret Place.)


 

Resources for Leaving a Legacy

 
 

 

 
 

17 Responses to The Story of My Life

  • Roberto Garcia says:

    I enjoyed your writing and your story.

    Jesus spoke many times in pictures. He said “you are the light of the world. A city on hill cannot be hid”. Matthew 6:14. That is very much like your story, a house or a city on a hill, a shelter for the weary, a place of refuge, and restoration.

    I see my story as a man standing some distance from a giant egg shell, broken in half, from which I emerged in newness in Christ. Before me many people, and others who have past by me with their countenace changed. Light emanating from my hand and touching them that are before me, and declaring the word of the Lord upon them. In the distance a road.

    The title: “In the likeness of the master. “

    • Daphne says:

      Thanks, Roberto.

      I like your story. What is the significance of the egg shell? Where does the road lead?

      “In the likeness of the master” … I like that. That’s how we should all be remembered. May everything I do be in the likeness of Him.

      Blessings,
      Daphne

  • Kathy Davis says:

    A warm sunny day a gentle breeze blows…. As you approach the house you hear laughter of adults and children splashing in the water. A gentle breeze blows and you see the smoke of a warmly lit barbeque. At a closer glance you see the fresh faces of little ones chasing a ball and others splashing around in the water. The seniors are gathered on the sunporch sipping lemonade and tea. A group of people are sitting at the table patiently waiting for the remainder of the food to be done. Content faces, suddenly someone breaks out in song. It’s a silver haired one that only gives her age away. She sings an old familiar hymn… after a few minutes all have gathered around the table and the little lady extends her hands as others join hands. She leads them in a prayer and the family begins to eat.

    A family that plays and prays stays together!

    • Daphne says:

      Yes, Kathy!

      Time with family is so, so important. As I get older, I realize that more and more. And it’s not just biological family–but our adopted families too.

      I like the visual of the seniors sitting on the sun porch–oh and everyone singing with hands joined.

      Oh, that we would all play and pray together.

      Big hugs,
      Daphne

  • Karen Campbell Prough says:

    The Story of My Life could be a copy of last night, spent with four grandchildren–ranging in ages six to eleven. They came for a “sleepover” and arrived for pizza at 6:00. Game time followed–Chinese Checkers, Bananagrams, and Jenga. We made our own ice-cream, chocolate and vanilla. Then I gave them containers with a “secret” in it and told them to shake it while we played another game. Ah, butter was the results of all the shaking! Bedtime was midnight … or there after. Homemade pancakes for breakfast, shaped like Mickey Mouse, and a walk around the block with Pepaw, while I cleaned up the kitchen. After the walk they got shovels and were given permission to dig the deepest hole they could behind the shed … look out China! They had a blast talking about what they’d find at the depths of the hole. The center of the earth? Monsters? Lava? Was it hot? Water? They discuss how to speak Chinese … just in case. Two treasure hunts followed the digging and a snack of chocolate chip cookies was the prize. Then it was lunch with hot dogs and homemade macaroni.

    All too soon parents took them home, and the youngest left here telling me he was sad … the sleepover had ended and he wanted to plan another one is thirteen days. Made me laugh and feel good to know that, in this fast paced world, four children would rather explore the things that children did in the past … make ice cream, make butter, and dig to China. Dirty faces and clothes smeared with earthy soil don’t always mean a child is neglected. It might mean they have experienced what God wishes every child could feel content to do … explore the simple pleasures of being a child with natural imagination and fun.

    Will these types of things be the only legacy I leave behind? Perhaps, but they are the ones that will last, past on to my grandchildren’s children and on down the line. I remember when I was little ….

    • Daphne says:

      I love this, Karen!

      I’m sure you were pooped by the end of the night–but it was well worth it, wasn’t it?

      I am amazed when I hear children’s imaginations in the stories they tell. I can picture them digging the holes to China.

      I agree with you: “Dirty faces and clothes smeared with earthly soil don’t always mean a child is neglected. It might mean they have experienced what God wishes every child could feel content to do … explore the simple pleasures of being a child with natural imagination and fun.” Oh, that we adults would feel content to get our faces dirty and smear our clothes with earthly soil–to use our imaginations and have the fun we either had as a child or, in other cases, the fun we never had.

      What a great story you will leave, Karen.

      Hugs,
      Daphne

      P.S. – I think this would make a great post on your blog. 🙂

  • Thank you for sharing your vision with us Daphne.
    I could feel the blanket on my shoulders as I sat quietly to hear the greatest story ever told.
    The story of my life unfolds at the foot of the cross

    I have wrestled with sin and shame.
    I have battled my family name.
    In darkness, I heard this refrain,
    “Meet me at the foot of the cross.”

    So I sailed across a raging sea,
    and I’ve walked the sands of Galilee.
    I made my way to Calvary,
    to pray at the foot of the cross.

    I promised Christ my alliance,
    as I cried there in the silence.
    And I gave up all defiance,
    to worship at the foot of the cross.

    Bathed in the blood of the Lamb,
    cleansed by His promise and plan,
    held in God’s holy hand,
    I remain at the foot of the cross.

    I have prayed for every nation,
    as I waited with all creation.
    Humbly, I sought a revelation,
    it was found at the foot of the cross.

    In a world I am just passing through,
    I’ve learned the words of Christ are true.
    Now I wait here with Him, for you,
    meet me at the foot of the cross.

    • Daphne says:

      What an amazing poem, Brenda!

      I think all of our lives as children of God unfold at the foot of the cross.

      Daily I want my life to find its place there.

      What brought you to the foot of the cross?

      Daphne

      • Initially it was an addiction, an overdose, and the realization that I needed a Savior that brought me to the foot of the cross. It was a lovely exchange. I gave Him the broken peices of my life and He gave me back a beautiful mosaic that tells the story of His grace, which is always amazing.

        • Daphne says:

          I’m always interested in how others came to know Christ and the story of their life. Every now and then, I post testimonies about readers’ victories in their lives. I would love to share yours. Let’s talk offline.

          And yes, it was a wonderful exchange!

          Big hugs,
          Daphne

  • Roberto Garcia says:

    Hi. The significance of the egg, is new birth. why an egg? I guess because it’s a struggle to come out of a shell as a baby, but grown physically, and from darkness into light, and it’s different than, our natural birth through our mother. the road is a path that I have to travel, to fulfill the commandment of Jesus. Mark 16: 15-18, 20. love Tio Roberto

    • Daphne says:

      It is a struggle to grow, isn’t it?

      None of us knows the road we have to travel, but we know our Heavenly Father always goes before us as His children.

      Hugs,
      Daphne

  • Fawn says:

    The story of my life is a beautiful tapestry that has been sewn together in the order of the years of my life. The muted pastel colors were the beginning, the middle child of 5 girls. As you follow the tapestry, more pronounced colors of dark grey, navy and black can be seen with a single thread of silver woven throughout. Those are my middle years. And the past 12 years are bright colors glistering in the light. The same silver thread continues through these years but there are also threads of gold and the two combine to create beautiful embroidery in each patch representing the past decade or so. The silver thread represents God, who was with me throughout the dark times of the distant past and remains with me today. The gold thread only appeared once I came to know the woman God called me to be and embraced the forgiveness offered through His Son. The two thread combined make beautiful swirls throughout, like a dance.

    My life story, as remembered, will hopefully be that once I learned how to dance, I never stopped.

    • Daphne says:

      Thanks for stopping by, Fawn!

      I like how you transition from pastel colors to more pronounced colors and then bright colors. I can say that my life has followed a similar color transition. 🙂 I’m happy now that I am in the bright stage of life, and I hope it continues. I thank God for bringing me out of the depths of depression and it is my hope that I can help others through that journey as well.

      A gold thread… I like that! And a dance! I love to dance. May you–and I–never stop dancing!

      Blessings and hugs,
      Daphne

  • Roxanne says:

    The Lord blessed my husband and I when we were engaged and wondering whether it was really His will for us to marry. We got into a photo booth at a shopping mall. We sat very closely together as the machine, appropriately named Rembrandt, proceeded to sketch the outline of our faces. We’d assumed that we had sat down in a regular photo booth and were expectantly waiting to have our pictures taken. Instead, we were marvelously surprised when the machine proceeded to draw our faces; erasing a line every now and then, before applying, what looked like, paint to the drawing. The completed portrait of the two of us was fantastic; better than a photo. A reminder that my husband and I are both on the Lord’s drawing board. And, after he’s completed the portrait, how lovely our marriage will be!

    • Daphne says:

      What a great story, Roxanne!

      God is drawing a wonderful portrait of our lives–complete with lines, colors, and as another reader posted, hints of gold that remind us He’s with us and has great plans for us.

      Blessings, my friend. Thanks so much for sharing!
      Daphne

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