The telling

Yesterday, we accidentally shared with a group of wonderful people at a church here in Sioux Falls. The church had a "talk-back" session with the pastor after the sermon. Sounded like our kind of thing, so we filed into the little room and sat down on the brown tweed couch. Soon Barb and her husband, first time visitors, sat next to me. Paul came in, toting his yearning and his questions. His elegant wife sat next to him, exuding a peaceful wisdom. They all came--Claire the NPR fan, and Joe the Pastor and sassy teacher and the men filtered in. We discussed the sermon and heard bits of their lives through it. We told bits of our lives too, and the lives of the people we talk to everyday.

Sometimes, even we don't get the story until we say it out loud. We live these stories; we put on these people and carry them around with us. But it takes the telling to make them three dimensional. In the synthesis and the story, we remember and discover what we're doing out here. We stumble on unexpected tears, and struggle to find the perfect words to make people feel and experience what we see. We hear the themes and the heartaches and the joys in the telling.

Sometimes I worry because our stories are such a sliver. It is always about just one topic or just one boy or just one town. I wonder if the listeners think that what they hear is all it is--I hope not. Yesterday, the topic was justice, and the stories we brought we justice stories. Somedays, it's family; other days, searching. I don't know what tomorrow will be. Won't know until it's told.