Stories of My Heart

When I was a little girl, my daddy read to us every night he could. He delighted us with Thornton Burgess’ stories of animals such as Mrs. Quack or Grandfather Frog that could both sadden and gladden our hearts. We depended on these moments. We thrived in these moments. We grew in these moments.

My mother made sure we had library subscriptions as soon as we were able. She walked us by the hand into the nearby library and helped us register for our library cards. She brought us back regularly to return the now beloved books and check out new ones or renew favorites. By the time we were pre-teens, she encouraged our independence and allowed us to pack lunches, jump on our bikes, and spend our Saturday afternoons reading away at the library on our own.

Mrs. Bischoff, our 7^th grade English teacher, knew how to inspire each of us to new levels of literature exploration. She knew I had a soft heart and could not handle the sadness of animals that took place in our stories that year. She allowed me to read and process those chapters alone in the school library. She also challenged me to read “Rebecca” and the writings of Cynthia Voigt and both the “Alanna” series by Tamora Pierce and “Clan of the Cave Bears” series by Jean Auel. I grew by leaps and bounds with each new title.

Oh how stories shape us. For years our ancestors gathered around fires and in small rooms to share the word and discuss it, but the more advanced we became, the more separated we became, and the less we shared.

Stories build community. We find something of ourselves in stories. We find something of others in them, too. Many times those commonalities or differences bring us together as we talk through them. It’s no wonder to me that people continue to gather in book studies to discuss what they’ve recently read and that on Saturdays and Sundays across the world, spiritual stories are still shared aloud in liturgies, and small groups come together to discuss their lessons. These traditions have continued to bring people into relationship for centuries.

Consider the bonds built by parent and children or teachers and their students during story time. How many of you remember reading with your loved ones or listening to a beloved book like “Charlotte’s Web” or “James and the Giant Peach” in school? How many of you still do read aloud with loved ones, perhaps a picture or chapter book, a classic, a poem, a newspaper article? How many of you cherish that time?

Our stories don’t just have to be from books. They can be of our day, of a recent trip, an extraordinary experience, or a less than extraordinary experience. Perhaps they are shared memories that bond generations together and give us insight into a different time or a chapter of a loved one’s life that helped shape him or her.

Please don’t stop sharing stories or searching for stories. Read to one another. Share your memories, your opinions, your questions, your sadnesses, your happinesses. Reflect on your experiences…together.

“You see I don’t know any stories. None of the lost boys know any stories.”

“How perfectly awful,” Wendy said.

“Do you know,” Peter asked, “why swallows build in the eaves of houses. It is to listen to the stories. Oh, Wendy, your mother was telling you such a lovely story.”

~Peter Pan, Chapter 3 “Come away, Come away!” by J.M. Barrie

With love and light,

LT