Change the story

I’m a reverse snob.

I don’t know if that’s a real thing or not. I think my mom made it up to describe my dad and me. Basically what it means is if something is in style, trendy or everybody’s all into some particular thing, we will decidedly not do it, just out of principle.

Capri pants are a good example. They were really in while I was in college but I refused to even own a pair. I didn’t buy/wear any until ten years later when they were right on the edge of being OUT of style. (Are they still in? I don’t even know.)

I didn’t try quinoa until VERY recently. I have not gotten on the essential-oils train (even though I’m fairly certain they work miracles). I finally let myself try yoga and barre classes (and honestly enjoy both).

I guess I finally figured out that by working so hard to NOT be controlled by something, it was actually still controlling me. Go figure.

I had no preconceived ideas about going to Haiti. I had no agenda, no idea what to expect and was strangely at peace about that. All I knew was that I was supposed to go and I was going. (I may be a reverse snob, but I’m not stupid. I’ve read the book of Jonah. I know what happens when God says to go and you don’t. No thank you.)

But there was one secret iron-clad decision I made immediately after I decided to go: I would not get my picture taken with any Haitian people. I would take pictures of them (with their permission), what they were doing and how REBUILD globally was impacting their lives. But I would not be in a picture with any of them.

Not because I was superior to them. But the exact opposite: I hadn’t earned it.

(That’s another issue I have. Brad calls it reverse entitlement.)

I didn’t tell Julie (RG founder, my travel companion for the trip and general real-life hero) about my decision. It was my issue. My brokenness.

But it did not remain hidden like I had planned.

When we visited the refugee camp, Julie was taking pictures of me playing with the kids when I wasn’t looking. She later asked me to pose for a few pictures and I reluctantly obliged, because it was just easier and from what I could see from where I was standing right then, any issue I had seemed like a joke.

Later in our hotel room, Julie said, “Hey, I sent you those pictures of you I took today. Did you get them?”

I looked away and started fidgeting with my suitcase. “Yeah. I did.”

“Aren’t they so cute? I love the one of you and the baby. It’s precious.”

I didn’t look up.

“You don’t like them?” she pressed, confused by my lack of reaction.

I sighed. No getting around it now. “It’s not that. It’s just…” I turned to face her looking for the words, “I don’t want to be that girl.”

Julie looked bewildered. “What girl?”

I could feel my eyes hardening at the thought. “You know, the rich white girl who visits some poor black country and takes pictures of herself with a bunch of black kids like she’s some white-savior-hero person and posts them all over Facebook so everyone can see what a good person she is.”

Julie didn’t hesitate. “Is that who you are? Is that how you felt today?”

“No!” I insisted. “That’s the point! They’re not photo ops. They’re not props or scenery. They’re not characters in a story where I’m the hero. They’re PEOPLE.”

She nodded emphatically. “Right! And you get that. So you’re NOT that girl.”

I plopped down on my bed sadly. “I know I’m not. But that’s what it’ll look like. That’s what other people will think. That’s the story.”

Again, Julie didn’t even blink. She shrugged and said, “So change the story.”

I looked up at her cynically. “Change the story,” I repeated. As if it were that simple.

“Yes,” she continued, her eyes flashing. “If we don’t change the story, then everything we’re doing, everything we’ve done, is all for nothing.”

Well, that sounded a little dramatic. She kept going.

“You didn’t just show up here and take some cute pictures and leave. You’re invested. You’re on THE BOARD. You’re coming back. You’re IN.”

“I know that,” I whined. “But nobody else will know that. They’ll think I’m just another poverty tourist.”

She shrugged again. “Well, I guess you’ll have to tell them.”

We moved on to another topic but her words rang in my head as I fell asleep that night and for days after. Change the story. Change. The story.

I realized how self-absorbed I was being. Who cared what other people thought of me? What mattered is what other people thought of REBUILD globally, the work they were doing, the people’s whose lives were being changed.

I looked at the picture of myself holding the baby. The first baby born in the refugee camp. The organization was changing HIS story because his mom had a job, was making money and would someday be able to fully support herself and her family. His life could be dramatically different than the lives of his grandparents.

I took a deep breath, let myself squirm uncomfortably one more time and made it my Facebook profile picture, people’s perceptions (and my own issues) be damned.

Forget THE story. Forget MY story. I’ll tell HIS story.

That’s why I was there.

Julie is running a race. She started running alone. Seven years ago, she bought a one-way ticket to Haiti, taking a couple thousand dollars and a tent. And through her willingness and obedience, the kingdom of God is springing up in that perceived God-forsaken country.

She came back to America with pictures, with stories, and other people began running with her. And organization was created, and so was a business. Another non-profit would keep Haiti paralyzed and dependent on America. A FOR-profit business would slowly but surely begin to break the cycle of generations-old poverty.

And it’s working. I saw it with my own eyes. I held hope in my arms that day. Someone snapped a picture. And because of my reverse-snobbery, I was refusing to tell the story because of what people might think.

The truth is, that story will invite others to join the race we’re running. Not because we have a white-savior complex. But because Aslan is on the move in Haiti. And the King wants to use OUR hands and feet for HIS story.

I wonder how many other stories are not being told because of what people might think. I wonder how many lives would change if they heard the stories we don’t tell because we’re afraid of being rejected or misunderstood.

I have told my stories. All of them. Even the Doozies, the Big Ones. (Not to everybody, but very select one-on-one situations where I knew my sin + God’s grace would equal hope and redemption for the listener.)

The story isn’t about how your addiction ruined your life; it’s about God’s deliverance.

The story isn’t about your infidelity and divorce; it’s about God’s healing and restoration.

The story isn’t about your bankruptcy and financial failure; it’s about God’s provision.

The story isn’t about your failing health; it’s about God’s faithfulness in your suffering.

That’s where we miss it. The story is not about us. We’re IN it, to be sure. But the story is about God. All of the stories. They’re all His stories.

But when people around us only know a piece of the story, they have to fill in the gaps with their guesses and gossip.

We must change the story. And the only way to do that is to tell it. As much as is necessary to take the spotlight off ourselves and point to the only One who is willing to change ANY story we will surrender to Him.

The only stories that remain unchanged are the stories that go untold.

So I will show the pictures and I will tell the stories. I will change the story from me being a superior white savior or just a really good person to what God is doing in Haiti. And I will invite others to be a part of it.

That’s what we are called to do with the gospel. Tell the stories. Tell the old stories from the Bible. Tell the new stories from your life. Tell how God remains the Hero and never stops working out His plan of redemption.

Think of all the misconceptions people harbor about the Church at large and God Himself. And if we change that story, it could change THEIR story as well. And the kingdom of God takes a little more ground.

Change the story.

And yes, it really is that simple.