Stories

Photo by Maegan Martin on Unsplash

I heard someone say recently that God is a wonderful storyteller. Their meaning was in the way that life stories are woven intricately together to form a tapestry that is often completely unexpected, whole and beautiful in a way that is difficult to trace, yet nonetheless traceable to the attentive participant.

Humans are storytelling creatures and relate to life through their own and others’ stories. A good story sticks with me for a long time, its fibers weaving their way through my heart. Yet, the best stories are the one where I can feel a comma at the end, like another story is just waiting to unfold on top of or into the one before. Not a sequel of sorts, but a second story. Like the way life really is for the attentive participant, discerning the sub stories that are always weaving together to form life’s plot.

Recently I heard a man I listen to talking about exactly this. This man is in his 70’s. He told a story about his three children flying in to spend some good time with him and his wife. They spent their days together talking about future needs, reminiscing, enjoying one another. He said that folks in his community had recently been incredibly supportive, letting him know how much he could lean on them. He told of how he’s following a recommendation for a Mediterranean diet and enjoying it more than he thought he would. He spoke of the exercises and stretching he’s started doing.

This man also told the story of the minor stroke he’d had precipitating all of the other stories.

The stroke had been scary and not, as he said, at all good in his opinion. He spent several days in the hospital, 36 hours unable to walk and limited in speech. As he told this story, he said he imagined if we only heard the first story we might think his life had been rich with goodness. Yet, the second story might have a listener aching with the fear of this event.

Neither story is more true than the other. They both are, and that’s the incredible weaving that is life.

The goodness that is does not wash away the burden or fear. And the challenge and grief does not have to diminish the gifts. Life bears both, yet it often takes a big perspective shift to see.

Neural pathways are made and unmade throughout a person’s lifetime. We have the ability to consciously form new neural pathways daily. It takes more effort to undo the old, but this is also possible.

We can become conditioned to seeing only half our story, half the story of life. There is always more, but we must attune ourselves to be able to shift from one perspective to another.

Parker Palmer writes, “Wholeness does not mean perfection: it means embracing brokenness as an integral part of life. Knowing this gives me hope that human wholeness—mine, yours, ours—need not be a utopian dream. If we can use devastation as a seedbed for new life.”

Wholeness of story requires building a practice, a neural pathway, of seeing the good. Not to cover over or bypass the hard, but to remember there is never one story. Embracing brokenness, embracing delight, embracing life as one big seedbed.

So, friends, can you tell your whole story?