Stories

I believe stories are sacred and that our stories matter deeply. When I discovered writing, in this way that appears on this blog, I found a way to get to know myself in a way I never had before. I am an avid journaler, spending hours upon hours filling up personal journals with the words that are in my head and heart and yet, the words that appear there do not have the same effect as when I do both journaling for my heart and eyes only and then sharing my heart with a wider audience.I believe it has something to do with the sacredness of sharing our stories with others. A theme that has been appearing in recent weeks has been this awareness of the sacredness that are our stories. I have been privileged to be a story hearer both in and outside of the hospital. One of my favorite things is when I am present enough to actually see the sign of a sacred truth about to happen. At the beginning of August, I had the honor to preach on Moses' call narrative, the burning bush story found in Exodus. The thing I kept hearing as I worked with the text was "pay attention." I had started to notice something when people would decide to bare the truth in their hearts to me.If I pay close enough attention and slow down long enough to be present, I am often gifted with a particular burning bush. When someone is about to share their heart, their story—they often get this look on their face. It’s a mix of surprise, joy, fear, and awe. As if they cannot quite believe they are going to share this with someone who is so often a stranger. if I am wise enough I stop, turn aside, to look and really see and hear it and I am gifted with the Divine. (An updated excerpt from the Aug. 1, 2021 sermon wrote and preached).I may not be in the hospital right now, but I am still a story hearer and holder and I continue to take seriously the call I feel to creating a sacred space for people to be invited to share their stories. I sat down at the computer today, not knowing what I was meant to write, simply knowing that I needed to. For a while now I have slipped into a shame spiral when I thought about writing my story. Through the last year, and particularly the last few months, I have committed to exploring my privilege and the privileges in my existence and story with curiosity rather than that white hot shame I have held with me for so long. I value deeply the sacred stories people have had the courage to share with me and I remembered that I can and should value the sacred story that belongs to me.I believe we connect with one another through stories and storytelling. I want to honor my call to be both a story hearer and storyteller. My return to writing has been prompted by another bump in the road, as many of my friends know this tends to be the pattern I follow. Yet, I am hoping for my own self that the return to writing is more of a reclaiming of who I am and this beautiful and winding journey that keeps leading me deeper into who I am and this God I am journeying alongside.It seems to me, we are becoming more and more disconnected with one another. Having less and less patience, compassion, and willingness to hear others' stories. I mess up--there are countless times that I have been too distracted, caught up in myself, or convinced I am right to actually pay attention and hear the person's story who is sitting in front of me--the stories of strangers, loved ones, family, friends, and people I am getting to know. However, each time I choose to actually be present, to listen and hear someone else's truth I am blessed and it only encourages me to keep making space in my heart, my schedule, and my mind to be available to sit with, listen, and hear. For that is truly one of the greatest honors and privileges I think we can be afforded.Thank you for taking the time to read a little piece of my story. And if you feel led to share a piece of your story with me, I would be honored to listen.Grace, peace, and love,Margaret