Who Tells Your Story

Like most people these days, I’ve become obsessed with the Broadway musical Hamilton. (If you haven’t seen it yet, I assure you this is one bandwagon you want to be on.) Ever since the smash hit was released on Disney Plus for all to view, it seems Hamilton fandom has swept the nation, and I’m happily riding the wave. I’ve never enjoyed a history lesson more. I had some pretty great history teachers in school, but I’m certain if they had shown up to class in costume and rapped their curriculum, I would be able to tell you something about the Revolution beyond what I’ve seen in movies and musicals.

Hamilton shines a bright spotlight on the individual stories of founding father Alexander Hamilton and those closest to him. Alexander’s narrative was one of immeasurable loss, pain, grief, regret, and profound forgiveness, but until now all people really knew of him were his groundbreaking accomplishments. Throughout the musical, there’s a recurring theme of leaving a legacy. Alexander is hell-bent on leaving his mark on American history, so much so he gets tunnel vision, neglecting his wife, children, and friends. He is convinced that his achievements determine his worth. It’s an easy lie to believe, isn’t it? The lie that what we do matters more than who we are.

My favorite part is at the conclusion of the show; Hamilton’s widow, Eliza, lives another 50 years after his death, and when her time has come, she lists off all the ways she’s honored her husband’s memory by supporting causes and people that were important to him. It’s a beautiful concept. Don’t we all want to be remembered, honored, and kept alive in the stories told by our family and friends?

I’ve lost some pretty amazing people in my life, all of whom I loved deeply. My Oma Rosie was one of them. Three years ago, on the Fourth of July, she entered heavenly glory to the sound of fireworks outside her window. She outlived my Opa by eight years, and for each of those eight years, she eagerly looked forward to being reunited with him. My memories of her are abundant. Rosie was always up for playing games with me. I whipped her countless times in Mancala, and she taught me the ins and outs of Pinochle. Together we would bake in the kitchen (her recipe for “Buster Bars” is still my ultimate comfort food), sing songs, read books, and become faithful pen pals. My whole life my Opa and Rosie never lived in the same state as me, but they were so intentional about visiting, writing, and calling. I never felt disconnected from them.

No matter how many years pass since her death, I can still close my eyes and hear her voice, smell her cough drops, and envision the condo she and my Opa shared. But do you want to know what I think of most when I remember my Oma? I think of her praying. I think of all the times I watched her sit at the kitchen table with her Bible open and her prayer list in front of her, holding hands with my Opa and praying over the people in her life. She never rushed through that part of her day. My Oma Rosie showed me the importance of beginning my day with God and laying our burdens at His feet. Her faithfulness in this simple act of obedience is what I will carry with me for the rest of my life, more than any recipe, card game, or conversation we shared. That is her legacy.

In her book, Famous in Heaven and at Home, Michelle Meyers writes, “Sometimes, we can allow ourselves to get intimidated when we use words like ‘legacy.’ We think that means God expects us to do something really big and significant. But here’s the truth: God can do amazing work with the simplest act of obedience. No obedience is too small or insignificant for Him to use because obedience always takes us one step closer to Him.” My Oma Rosie’s simple act of praying for others no doubt brought her closer to Him, and it was significant enough that I’m now following her footsteps.

Proverbs 31:30 tells us human traits don’t last. They might earn us momentary earthly glory, but they won’t keep us in the spotlight. Alexander Hamilton was consumed with winning earthly glory, but his life was cut short by a man he’d stepped over one too many times in his pursuit of greatness. Hamilton’s accomplishments, his failures, even the musical won’t always be famous. Fame is fleeting. Jesus was beloved and hailed as a king when He entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, but less than a week later, people were delighting in his execution and casting lots for His belongings. But Jesus had an eternal purpose. He didn’t teach and heal thousands of people for the applause or accolades. He lived to save the lost. “Simply put, earthly glory without eternal purpose is completely worthless… Jesus’ story didn’t end on a cross, and if we consume ourselves with living for God’s glory, our story won’t end in defeat either. Our story will simply be a reflection of His victory,” (Meyers).

In the conclusion of the musical, Alexander Hamilton’s widow, Eliza, seems to idolize the idea of leaving a legacy, just as her late husband did. Alexander died at a relatively young age. His story wasn’t finished. She sings of what he could’ve done if he’d had more time. How much more would he be remembered, memorialized, praised? Eliza questions if she’s done enough in her own life to ensure Alexander’s legacy. Her focus, like Alexander’s, is on what she’s accomplished. “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?” sings the cast.

When your time here on Earth is done, do you want people to sing your praises and tell your story? Or do you want them to sing God’s praises and tell His story?

There’s a song by Big Daddy Weave called “My Story.” It beautifully speaks to the legacy we should strive to leave. The chorus says:

If I should speak, then let it be
Of the grace that is greater than all my sin
Of when justice was served and where mercy wins
Of the kindness of Jesus that draws me in
Oh, to tell you my story is to tell of Him

I pray my kids remember me when they make a recipe of mine they love, hear a song I used to sing to them, or retell a story I used to share. I pray they remember all the little ways I showed up for them, encouraged them, and loved them well. But more than anything, I pray they remember the Bible verses I taught them, the way I prayed with them and over them, and the way I exemplified Christ’s love to friends, family, and strangers. The story I want them to tell isn’t mine, it’s God’s. That’s my legacy. What’s yours?

Tickling the ivories with my Oma Rosie, 1986

Oma Rosie’s Buster Bars

4c. oatmeal, 1 c. brown sugar, 1 c. soft butter, 1/2c. light corn syrup. Mix & pat into 9x13 pan. Bake at 350 degrees, 10-15 minutes. Don’t over-bake. It should look bubbly. Let cool.

Melt together 6oz. chocolate chips with 3/4c. chunky peanut butter. Spread over the cooled oatmeal mix. Cover & refrigerate until firm.

Cut into squares and savor every morsel.