It’s a mere fragment of a story, but it sticks with me as it’s the first time I truly realised how easy it is to add imagined facts to stories. Mark and I were living in the Mongolian countryside at the time and were away. Our neighbours, who hadn’t spoken with us, were telling our friends that we had gone to England. A few days later, when we returned, everyone was surprised.

A silly incident perhaps, but it serves as a reminder to me of how easy it is to jump to a conclusion when I see something happen or, having a single piece of information, let a story unfold in my head. Why do I do this? Perhaps I am trying to satiate curiosity by removing uncomfortable ambiguities that leave unanswered questions hanging.

A couple of weeks ago, someone told us that some Mongolian friends were leaving Central Asia to resettle in Korea. We were shocked! How could this be? God had done amazing things to get this family to the mission field. Surely, they couldn’t be leaving now. As I thought about it, my mind raced ahead, reasoning out their decision and filling in the blanks.

Half-way down the road of rationalising this piece of news, I decided to call the wife and ask her directly. A few minutes into the conversation everything became clear. Her husband had gone to Seoul for medical treatment, she and her daughter had planned to accompany him but weren’t able to. They had asked people to pray and so the story had evolved.

It is typical in cross-cultural relationships for me to make up parts I don’t know based on what I think I understand. I note the term ‘cross-cultural’ can loosely extend to most relationships, for I am a countryside girl married to someone from London and we’re still working on understanding each other.

Telling stories is a natural part of who we are, perhaps even the adding of bits we don’t know is too. But I can’t help thinking that the stories I make up about myself can be the most harmful. In my mind they often become a confabulation of something factual combined with anxiety. And anxiety seems to rush at breakneck speed to feed my insecurities.

‘Stop,’ I shout, the moment I realise my thoughts have become derailed. It’s time to regain perspective, God’s perspective, and to let peace and clarity return. ‘What do I need to learn here?’

Quietly, the answers come. Embrace the unknown. Learn to be content with ambiguities and unanswered questions. It is after all what faith is all about; choosing to trust rather than fear. Trust, with an open heart, the One who knows the beginning from the end, even when I do not know the very next step of my story.

To embrace the unknown means unclenching my fist and fully releasing control of the narrative of my life to another. It means living and loving with courage and authenticity, letting God surprise me and others teach me His way, as relationships grow and mature, through the bad times and the good.

Embracing the unknown is not always easy. But I am learning, trusting that God knows what is best for me and that, in His great love, He continues to redeem and rewrite the unhealthy narrative that plays in my mind, for my good and for His best true story.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2023