A friend sent me one of those pithy e-mail notes recently, the kind that makes the rounds on the Internet. It began:

“The next time you feel like God can't use you, just remember: Noah was a drunk, Abraham was too old, Isaac was a daydreamer, Jacob was a liar, Leah was ugly, Joseph was abused, Moses had a stuttering problem, Gideon was afraid, Sampson had long hair and was a womanizer, Rahab was a prostitute…"

You get the idea. The piece cites several other biblical examples whose lives we all look up to then ends with the line, “God can use you to your full potential. Besides you aren't the message, you are just the messenger."

Noah, Rahab and company weren't the message either. But because words about their lives and their struggles, their strengths and their weaknesses were written down and preserved, you and I can get the message.

Reading that e-mail made me smile. It also caused me to reflect on this journey I've begun with ChristianWeek, as Ontario Regional Correspondent.

It's been a fascinating few months since I began.

Already, I've had the opportunity to meet wonderful people who likely never would have crossed my path otherwise. I've heard amazing stories of God and God's people at work, and been privileged to ask questions-to probe and to dig until I've understood the truth about those stories-at least, as much truth as people were willing to share.

Then I've been able to pray over the details, and wrestle with words in an attempt to accurately put the facts down on paper, in order that others might hear them as well.

Tense moment
But some of the stories haven't been all good news. And sometimes, as I've asked the questions that would permit fuller understanding, I've sensed tension in the one who's answering.

Sometimes, it's been more than tension. I've also sensed anger, belligerence and even outright hostility. People have refused to comment altogether; perhaps for reasons of conscience and dignity; or perhaps out of concern that facts might be misinterpreted, or that if those facts were written down, readers might judge or point a finger. At times, I've suspected that such unwillingness to talk was rooted in fear that the truth might be told.

That's come as a surprise.

“But this is important!" I've wanted to say. “It's all a part of the truth of this situation. And if you'll tell it, people can learn from your telling and from your experiences!"

But in spite of what Keats says about truth being beauty and beauty truth, reality is that what truth reveals can be downright unpleasant or even ugly.

Jesus said we would know the truth, and it would set us free. One of the ways we can know, understand and experience truth-that we can be set free-is through the power of words to convey both the abstract and the concrete.

God loves words
I believe passionately that God loves words. He created our world with a word. When He created us, He gave us the gift of language and the ability to use it. He's given us an entire book of words to learn from, and to receive comfort, encouragement and direction by. That very book even calls His own son “The Word." What an honour we all have to use our words! What a responsibility we all have to use them well!

I know of no perfect people within the body of Christ. Yet, we are His body! He chose us to be the hands, feet, eyes, ears, brains, mouths and hearts that carry out His will and His purpose on this planet.

We do our best. But we make mistakes. And judging by the stories of the lives of His people that I read about in His Word, that's nothing new.

But out of the ashes of our failures, God can do a new thing. And it is often precisely at the moment that we recognize the truth about our own shortcomings that He sends us His message of grace and redemption anew.

When we allow our stories to be written down, then others can get the message too.