I love to hear people’s stories. I want to hear what they wanted to be when they grew up and how they met their spouse and who they named their children after. And when we know each other better, I hope they’ll share with me the harder stories, about the child they lost or the child they couldn’t have or the child who broke their heart.
But their stories aren’t written in black and white on their faces for me to read when I say hello for the first time. I can’t feel all the pain they hold inside when I feel their hand grasp mine in a handshake.
And too often, I let what my eyes see on the outside distort the stories they are holding inside. I tend to judge by clothes and hairstyle rather than seeing the lost job and broken heart they hide.
I want to view people through the lens of their stories, even if they are stories I have not yet heard. I want to see them like Jesus sees them: a beautiful creation, made in His image, with a story worth telling.