a story about this story

Do you remember those end-of-the-year surveys we took senior year of high school? We voted for stuff like who we thought had the best smile, who the best artist was and whatnot (insert semi-nostalgic, semi-horrific memories).

I remember how proud I was that I had saved up to buy that ridiculously over-priced relic. I remember opening my senior yearbook, hearing those virgin pages crinkle, and smelling that new book smell. And I remember my friends rushing to tell me what I had been voted for before I could see for myself--

Sarah Yang: Most Likely to Become President (insert flashing cameras and incessant journalists).

That was probably one of my proudest moments at that point in life (oh, how small our teenage worlds are!). See, I had major dreams for myself; and while those dreams didn't include a presidency, it felt so good to know my peers thought so highly of and believed in me.

Flash forward almost a decade and this future president is currently sitting in dirty yoga pants with a laptop awkwardly balanced on her legs and a swollen belly growing her fourth child. She is unemployed (still waiting for stay-at-home-mom to become a "real" job) and has, in fact, yet to work full-time for the first time in her life.

At this point, I think the only people who would vote me in as future president are the three kids I tucked into bed a few hours ago. But let's be honest: Their lives depend on that vote.

I used to feel the need to "catch up" in life, lest I run into a former high school friend and have to "admit" that I was "just" a stay-at-home-mom (even if it's to three amazing little humans). I used to feel the need to explain why "this" was "all" I turned out to be. After all, this was no life for a future president, right?

In many ways, yes. In the few important ones, no.

I'm not where I thought I would be, but I'm right where I'm supposed to be: Surrendering to God's will by embracing my season of life. And I think this is where you're supposed to be, too.

See, we've all got something to share with and something to learn from one another--but we don't do much of either. We hope that if we're kind to others and avoid the skeletons in our closet we'll somehow get to where we need to be.

That's not how it works, though, is it?

I want that to change. I want us to relate to one another. I know it's a crazy idea (surely not social-media material), but hear me out: If I tell you about me--including my less-than-glorious stories--will you find the courage to tell me about you? Because you've got a remarkable story of resilience that can inspire hope in others, one that God guides and wants you to be sharing.

Learn from me and teach me. Grow me and grow with me. It's only in the exchange of our messy stories that God gets the glory for being the dependable, amazing God He is.

Let's tell each other our stories. Let's laugh at how young and stupid we were (and are) and hail to the glory days ahead. Don't want to spill your beans yet? No worries. Spill them when you're good and ready. In the meantime, I'll go first.

I'm praying you find the courage to join me on this journey for authentic living. With a God like ours, we can move mountains, you and I.

So let's move mountains.

most sincerely,