Story Telling Place


Such a room spills over with life-giving sustenance.

Friends smile a greeting that my eyes return.

Time slows.  Hearts open.

Laughter.  Tears.

I see a nod.  I hear a question, a prompt to go on.

With a mixture of surprise and relief, I do just that.

(surprise at being asked,
relief at being heard;

surprise that another wants to know,
relief that I’ve not said too much;

surprise that the strangeness can be unraveled;
relief that comes with saying it out loud)

I re-tell a sliver of my day that, up to this moment, made little sense.
Re-live the confusion.
Re-enact the mistake.
Re-feel the sadness.
Re-enter my own story, my friends’ stories.

And understanding emerges.

Palpable blessing, this story-telling, this story-hearing.

Yet somehow, I’ve wandered away from the road that takes me to that place.
I’ve forgotten the way.
And I can’t hear their voices.
I am missing their stories, and they mine.

But I am hoping to return to the place.  To tell my story.  To hear theirs.


  1. Thanks for sharing. It is amazing how sharing our stories and hearing the stories of others can bless us and help us. I need to get back to that place where I hear and tell stories as well. Thanks for the encouragement to step out rather than staying in my own little safe box.

  2. Oh this speaks to me of the necessity of vulnerability and availability. Sometimes I fear it would be easier to not share my story - because of past misunderstandings, judgements, etc. - but there is redemption in the sharing of stories, isn't there?


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