Hero of My Story

[This is another one of those posts from at least a year ago, because I've been too busy at work to write a new one.  Some of you will probably recognize it, but for others at least it'll be new. Hope you enjoy!]

When I was younger, I liked to write stories.

Not that I ever finished them. But once I got an idea I would think of little else, spending hours trying to write neatly (not one of my gifts) on countless spiral-bound notebooks, creating characters, places, and drama. Every couple of minutes, I would stop, stare off into space, and dream for a minute before busily putting my imaginings on paper again.

Actually, most of you have probably seen that look on my face...when I'm obviously oblivious to everything around me, lost in thought. It annoys my sister to no end, when she is trying to talk to me. It also frustrated my old debater partner.  A friend of mine calls it my 'perplexed look' because I can look confused, sad, or even angry, when I'm really just thinking. But I digress.

None of my stories were alike. Each one was different, with a new setting, plot, or time period. One may be about an actress; the next, pioneers captured by Indians; and the next, an ancient Greek hero. But there was one thing in common with all my stories.

I was the heroine.

In my stories, I always put myself as the main character. She was even named after me sometimes. My heroines always had brown, straight hair, blue/grey eyes, and an overly developed sense of romance. They shared my interests, dreams, and abilities. Usually they enjoyed less faults and more virtues than I do, as well as far more adventure, but I always pictured myself in their place, no matter the period, place, or plot. 

But there is one story I can never be the heroine of.

My own.

A few years ago, I studied Robert Louis Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He tells the story of a man, Jekyll, who discovers a potion that allows him to change form, into a concentration of his evil character: Mr. Hyde. As Hyde, the man is a hardened killer, murdering innocent men, trampling children in the streets, without a thought. Hyde is despicable, hateful...evil. Beyond redemption.

In the beginning, Jekyll is able to escape from the form of Hyde. But soon, Hyde's nature overtakes him and he can no longer hide it, can no longer escape. 

Hyde commits suicide, ending Jekyll's life. Jekyll was not a 'bad' man. It was his own sinful nature that killed him.

And it is just the same with us.

I attended Worldview Academy for the last two summers. I can't tell you enough about how good, how valuable it is.

One of the best things they taught us there is this:

I am worthless. You are worthless. We are all a bunch of dirty, rotten sinners.

Like Jekyll, we can never, never save ourselves from our sinful nature. It will always consume us, overwhelm us, burden us down 'til we fall, screaming, into the grave. No one can lift themselves out. No can can be the hero of their own story.

But although that was the end of the story for Jekyll, it's different for us.

There is a Hero, strong enough, good enough, wonderful enough, to save us.

He sees us, wallowing in our sin, and still thinks we are worth loving. To Him, no price is too great to redeem us, to reach down, lift us up, wash us in His very blood, so we can spend eternity with Him. 

Not even His own life.

And He is the Hero of My Story. 

"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith, and this, not of yourselves, it is the gift of God, not by works, so that no one can boast."

Ephesians 2:8-9