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 7th 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
