The Story I Was Afraid to Tell

I wasn’t trying to write a book.

I was trying to write a bio.

I needed something that could be used for speaking engagements—a professional biography that would tell people a little about who I was, where I had been, and some of the experiences that had shaped my life.

It sounded simple enough.

But when I began looking back over my life, something happened. A short biography started opening doors to memories. One story led to another. Jamaica. Family. The military. Leaving home. Starting over in America. Work. Leadership. Education. Ministry. Losses. Victories. Mistakes. Lessons. Faith.

Before long, I realized there was much more there than a biography.

There was a story.

And that was when I became afraid to tell it.

What Will People Think?

For a long time, I had thought about some of the experiences of my life, but telling them publicly was something different.

I wondered who might be offended.

I wondered who might recognize themselves in something I wrote.

I wondered whether people would look at me differently if they knew certain things about me.

Would someone lose respect for me?

Would somebody think I had said too much?

Would someone feel that I had exposed them?

And, if I am being truthful, there were times when those questions were louder than the story itself.

There were practical concerns too. Publishing a book costs money. There were things I wasn’t sure I could afford at different stages of my life. There were reasons to wait.

But one of the greatest obstacles wasn’t financial.

It was people.

Or, perhaps more accurately, what I imagined people might think.

Telling the Truth Without Hurting People

As the story that eventually became Ordered Steps: The Testimony of a Life Preserved by Grace began taking shape, I learned something I wish I had understood much earlier:

I could tell the truth about my life without using my story to hurt someone else.

That realization changed everything.

There is a difference between telling your story and settling a score.

There is a difference between honesty and revenge.

There is a difference between acknowledging what happened to you and putting everybody who was involved on trial.

My story did not require villains.

It required truth.

Some experiences were painful. Some were disappointing. Some involved people whose names never needed to appear on a page. I discovered that I could tell what an experience did in me without trying to do something to them.

That gave me freedom.

I could protect another person’s dignity without pretending that my own experience never happened.

And once I understood that, the question began to change.

Instead of asking only:

“What will people think if I tell this?”

I began to consider:

“What if telling this helps somebody?”

That is a very different question.

I Wish I Had Done It Earlier

Today, I am happy that I told my story.

So happy, in fact, that part of me wishes I had done it earlier.

But I also believe in God’s timing.

Looking back, I can see that perhaps I needed some years between myself and certain experiences. I needed maturity. I needed perspective. I needed to be able to look backward without bitterness.

And when the time came, things began falling into place.

Ironically, I still wasn’t trying to write a book.

Remember?

I was trying to write a bio.

One small step opened another.

And another.

Until eventually I was holding a published copy of Ordered Steps in my hands.

There is something almost humorous about that now. I wrote a book about looking back and recognizing how God had ordered the steps of my life—and even the book itself began with a step whose destination I couldn’t see.

Apparently, I’m Still Learning

And here is the part that made me laugh.

While thinking about writing this very reflection—an article about not worrying too much about what people think—I caught myself doing it again.

I started wondering what people might think about how I develop my writing and organize my thoughts, including the fact that I use modern technology and artificial intelligence as part of that process.

Then it hit me.

James, you’re doing it again.

Here I am writing about freedom from people’s opinions while worrying about people’s opinions.

Lord have mercy.

Apparently, some lessons aren’t learned once.

We keep learning them.

And maybe that is all right.

Perhaps freedom doesn’t mean reaching a point where you never wonder what somebody thinks about you.

Maybe freedom is realizing that you wondered—

and moving forward anyway.

What Are You Waiting to Do?

Your story may have nothing to do with writing a book.

Maybe there is something you have wanted to start.

Maybe there is a dream you keep postponing.

Maybe there is something you need to say.

Maybe there is a gift you have been reluctant to use.

Maybe God has been nudging you toward something, but before you take the step, you keep looking around to see who might approve.

There is wisdom in listening to good counsel. There is value in considering how our decisions affect other people. And we should never use “being ourselves” as an excuse to be careless with the hearts of others.

But there comes a point when concern about people’s opinions can become a prison.

I know.

I lived in that prison longer than I needed to.

And on the other side of that fear, I discovered something I could not have known beforehand:

The very thing I was afraid to share might be the thing someone else needed to hear.

That doesn’t mean everybody will understand your journey.

They don’t have to.

It doesn’t mean everybody will approve.

They won’t.

It doesn’t mean you stop caring about people.

You shouldn’t.

It simply means that other people’s opinions no longer get the final vote on what God has placed in your heart to do.

I wish I had understood that earlier.

Then again, perhaps I learned it exactly when I was supposed to.

After all, that’s what Ordered Steps taught me.

Sometimes you don’t know where the road is leading.

You simply have to trust God—

and take the next step.