The Importance of Stories



Don and I drove up the hill into the sunset. Around the corner we found the driveway we were looking for and our friend came out to meet us. She showed us her many herb gardens scattered about the lawn in raised beds. Dusk was closing in and the dew was heavy already, so we didn't get to see all of them, but she walked a few steps to one plant, plucked a leaf and rubbed it between her hands for us to smell. This is pineapple sage, she said with enthusiasm. I just love the smell! Sniffing its delicate aroma, I knew why she was passionate about her handiwork.

Inside, we visited about many things--the need for zoning in rural areas, the unfairness of some tax rules, the importance of good newsletters to organizations, and even childhood memories. Then the topic turned to families.

Talk about large families, she said, there were nine of us. I had six brothers, and they were always thinking up things to do.

Some misguided person once gave us a pedal car--you know, one of these little ones you sit in and pedal. It was built to look like an airplane, with little stubby wings sticking out on the sides. And we were convinced it would really fly. So we took it up on the barn roof and fought over who was going to be the first one to try it out.

Luckily, my brother Billy won out. He got in the plane, and we all pushed him--down over the gambrel--fully expecting him to soar around in a circle and land back on the roof so the rest of us could ride. But that's not quite what happened. He went straight off the edge and landed nose down on the ground! Fortunately he didn't get hurt.

Another time we were up in this big old tree playing panther. We'd growl and jump from one branch to another. My older brother pointed to a branch and said he was going to jump to that one. Now this was such a distance that not even a real panther would have been able to do it. But my brother gave a big jump, got about halfway, and hit the ground. It knocked him out.

We all scrambled down to look, and decided he was dead. So did we go for help? Not on your life! We weren't going to get in trouble. We snuck into the woods, circled all the way around the house and came in from the other direction. Let somebody else find the body. We didn't know anything about it. It turned out he wasn't dead, just unconscious. But we weren't taking any chances.

I share these stories with you because I think there are thousands of stories out there waiting. Only a few are actually being told. This friend has always wanted to write, but thinks editors wouldn't take her seriously because she doesn't have a degree in journalism. She is intimidated by experts who have all those letters behind their names.

What a loss to society! How much richer we would be if she would write her stories--recounting tales of childhood escapades unselfconsciously--just as she told them to me. And how very much richer we would be if all of you, who also have stories to tell, would do the same! I for one would love to read them.

Another story comes from a friend of a friend. It's about a young man who had the opportunity to go with his pastor and a few others to Russia on a person-to-person mission trip. John was a promising young lay preacher and wanted to go. But...

He had been unemployed for a time. His electric and telephone bills were unpaid, and he was behind in his car and house payments. How could he justify going to Russia, even if his expenses were paid by the church, when he should be home job hunting? But his heart told him he was needed even more in Russia. So he went.

There he talked with the Russian people about faith in Christ. And wherever he preached, crowds gathered and listened attentively. The group he went with even visited inside the Kremlin, and there sang the stirring hymn, How Great Thou Art. Such an opportunity would have been unthinkable a generation ago.

While in Russia, John met a Russian scientist who was in dire circumstances. He had a family of 19 or 20 children and an income equivalent to $20 a month. The family was out of food and destitute. John's group shared the scientist's plight and began to take up a collection for him. When they had finished, they were able to give the man an amount approximately equal to a year's income!

But what of John's own plight back home in California? Right after he left for Russia, his wife received a check for $2500 from an unexpected source. And their son and daughter both found good jobs!

Do you see what I mean? The world is full of stories that beg to be told! How about telling yours?



Story Time

The world is full of stories just waiting to be told!
And each of us can tell somethe timid and the bold.
For one can tell a story of Russian friends in need,
While yet another recollects someones unselfish deed.
And one can tell of sorrows, another share some joy,
While yet another tells us how to build a sturdy toy.
And one can tell of childhood--its daring escapades,
And one can share forget-me-nots in sheltered forest glades.
For each one has a story that no one else can tell,
And some may tell it carelessly, while others tell it well.
But all of life is richer when, fanciful or true,
We tell each other stories of how we lived and grew.