Let Me Tell You a Story

Let me tell you a story. Sometimes that phrase is the prelude to a fable, of sorts. The kind of "let me teach you a lesson" kind of story. Other times it's a bit of history: "Let me tell you about when I was a child. We would walk to school in the snow--uphill both ways." I remember my father telling countless stories about family and friends that I had never met or had limited contact with, but characters who lived in his stories.

Let me tell you a story. I didn't move too far outside of my comfort zone until I took the step toward a call to serve, and became a young adult missionary. I was part of a group of seventeen young adults. At the very beginning of our training together we were each asked to participate in an ice breaker activity of sorts. Our instructions were to share our stories. We were invited to use and create props for our presentation and we would have twenty minutes or so to share. Wow. I had met a few of the others at our interviews, and knew a little bit about them. Everyone else was a stranger except for a similar call to serve. I was going to share my story (however I edited it) with a group of strangers. Wow.

Let me tell you a story. This blog is a story of sorts. It's my story (however I edit it). One of the reasons I so enjoy writing is that it's a vehicle for sharing stories. The stories of our lives illustrate what we believe. The stories of our lives share our thoughts and feelings and responses to other people's thoughts and feelings and responses. We practice them in different venues and perfect our retellings. The stories of our lives can reveal more about us than we know or might be comfortable with. Stories unite and sometimes divide. Many times our stories are the best way to communicate.

Let me tell you a story.