My
twenty-year old granddaughter, Rose Davis, is my guest blogger today. A French proverb states there is “No rose
without a thorn.” Her story about the thorn in her life that caused her to bloom
into a delightful young woman is well worth sharing with my readers. Here is
her bio and her story.
Rose
Davis is a Christian, a dancer, a social media influencer, a student, and a
granddaughter. She has a dream to make a difference by increasing access to
dance for low income communities. She dedicates her time to her studies in
Sociology and Communications at the University of Toronto in Mississauga,
Canada and curating lattes at Starbucks. Rose also manages a creative team for
her church’s young adult ministry. Her biggest venture is PinkBalletShoes—an
Instagram account with over 290,000 followers—where she creates a culture about
dance through the medium of photography. To follow her, check out her website: www.pinkballetshoes.com
Rose wants you to
know:
“I love what I do
and I am happy to share a little piece of my life with you!”
I see my life as a collection of stories. Every moment, every heart break,
every joyous occasion, every piece of mundane living as a collection of stories
to create this one beautifully written piece. The thing about stories is there
is this chronological order that must be followed in the midst of chaos to
understand the outcome.
I see my life in seasons. Every season carrying high and low moments,
that work together to teach me something I otherwise might not learn. The thing
about seasons is they are always changing, reflecting wondrous and repetitious things
we have seen before.
My whole life I grew up in church. I was your typical Christian kid memorizing
Bible verses, earning KidzCash for prizes, and proudly knowing every lyric to the
Veggie Tales’ songs. My reality was living in that four-wall-built structure.
Beyond that there was no meaning for me. I challenged the thought of God by
questioning His very existence. To me He wasn’t real, but I so wanted Him to
be.
Then chaos hit and I thought my life was over. I was moved out of my
home and found myself trudging through a
barren land in a foreign country. I experienced loneliness to the point where I
felt so low that suicide was an option. “God, why would you do this to me?” I
questioned. “Take me out of here,” I pleaded. The only response was absolute
nothingness. I’d heard of God being real to others, so why wasn’t He real to
me? I was hurting. I was broken. I needed God to be real.
“Where are you God?”
“Where are you God?”
He was nowhere, until He met me in worship. From nothing into something, His presence hit me and I began to weep. He was close like a Father, holding
me tight. I knew He was real. His voice began to comfort me with answers of “I’m
right here, I’m right here.” He restored my knowledge of His presence.
In the broken, in the hurting, in the barren, God exposed my loneliness.
He revealed how absent I had been from Him. Growing up Christian was only an
introduction to Christ. God had to teach me to encounter Him, to embrace Him as
He embraced me, and to cry out so He could replace my pain with joy.
I was in a story of doubt—in a season of loneliness—where God brought me
understanding by His closeness. He taught me to allow myself to embrace and be
embraced.
