My blog, as with most things in my life, has become a little disorganized over time. Kind of like my sock drawer.
So as I collect my thoughts and look forward, I’ve got 2 or 3 “blog series” in mind. One of them could loosely be titled “Storytellers,” where I ask some people to tell their, uh, stories. How clever is that? But seriously, my favorite part of books and conversations is usually the sharing of stories. These are the things that connect to my heart—like the tale of Jesus sitting at a well and chatting with a Samaritan woman. Now that’s a story!
So when I ask people to share their personal experiences, maybe there will be nothing but the sound of crickets … but possibly there will be something else. And none of the entries may be fit for Chicken Soup for the Soul, but they could have the sound of realness about them. And that’d be my preference anyway.
And I guess there’s a bit more to this …
I love the heritage of the church I grew up in … learning about God and His word … truly priceless stuff. But there were some weaknesses there—as with any church—and one of those weaknesses happened to be that we didn’t hear many other “voices.” We didn’t hear much from women or from people who differed from us. So I’d really like to pull in a broad range of stories … to listen to what people have to say … regardless of background, gender, doctrine, whatever. What’s the story? Does it make me think or feel something? Does it help me better understand God and this world He created? If yes, then bring it on!
And, if there’s a smidgen of grace in the mix, well … all the better.
Speaking of stories … here’s one of mine. It’s short and random. Something about “springing forward” recently brought this to mind:
Mom and I would have conversations about Daylight Savings Time. It was a topic of conversation.And I would figure out that that the daylight would be longer at the end of the day, but that it would be darker in the mornings.“Mom,” I’d ask, “maybe I should take a flashlight to school, just to be safe?”“What a good idea,” she’d reply.And so I would. For the first few days of daylight savings, I’d carry a flashlight to school. And I wouldn’t cut through the Ganus’ backyard or the Jones’ backyard—my normal route—where the morning shadows could be creepy. I’d walk down the sidewalks and around the Harding tennis courts and over by the Harding music building where my flashlight beam would bounce all over the red bricks. And I’d trot into school via the front door on the high-school side, winding down the hallways until I got to my classroom on the elementary side of the building.Safe after my dangerous journey through the darkness.