A Lover of Stories

Hey, I’m Rachel—one of a million “Rachel’s” born and named in the 80s and 90s. But, hey, at least I’ve slowly come to realize I’m not one in a million to the most important Being in my life.*

All my life, I’ve been a lover of stories. Give me a novel that lets me see through the eyes of someone not like me, of another time or a foreign culture—or a true story recounting the journey from brokenness to restoration, estrangement to belonging, darkness to light, and I’m all in. My soul burns for stories like these. 

While I’ve always considered myself a lover of stories, I never thought of myself as a storyteller. It wasn’t until nearly two years ago that God spoke to me about writing the stories for those who couldn’t write them for themselves—those who’ve met Him in dark places and have been brought from death to life while surrounded by hostility—that I began to walk into this calling. 

Simultaneously, God has been taking me on a journey of learning to see Him, to hear Him, to abide in Him, to fellowship with Him in the everyday. Motherhood, which had at first felt like an obstacle between me and abiding, has not-so-gently forced me to invite the Holy Spirit into the mundane, but it’s become so much more than just that. I’ve begun to see a whole new meaning to “pray without ceasing.” 

In recent months, I have felt God filling me with stories, thoughts, truths that have built up and up and up until I could do no less than allow them to erupt out of me onto the page. And now?

I am unexpectedly astonished to say that I feel most alive, most myself, most in touch with the Spirit who makes His home in me when I write.

And when I write, I write letters mostly, letters to my kindred spirits (shout out to all of you Anne of Green Gables fans out there), pouring my soul out on the page to dear friends with whom I love to share the innermost parts of me, the messy mixed with the beautiful, the confusion along with the clarity. 

But to me, every new face is a potential new friend, a new beautiful unique soul to connect and commune with, whether it’s over a coffee, a glass of wine, around a table with the sabbath candles lit, a chance encounter in the pharmacy down the street, over a good book, or through this device I’m typing on right now.

And so, my dearest friend, welcome to the journey.

*It’s God — or Dad as I often call Him when we chat — in case you weren’t sure. 

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These letters are currently freely shared, paid subscription optional, but if you’d like to support my writing habits by buying me a coffee, you’ll help the creative juices to continue flowing 💛