Stories in our Lives: Tuesday's Reflection

Recently, my husband and I were at my sister's home for dinner--something that is always a delight. Along with two of their adult children, she and her husband had invited another couple who are special friends in their lives. We knew about them, but previously had met them only casually. How nice to have a chance to get to know them better. 

During the course of the evening, they asked us some "fill in the blank" questions, and we talked about our years of living in Ohio at Sweetwater Farm. People are always interested and actually, quite surprised when we list the number of animals we had: llamas, sheep, pygmy goats, a donkey, peacock, geese, cats, rabbit, dog, chickens, and even a potbellied pig, who was a refuge from Hurricane Katrina. 

Once more I shared the story of one of the sheep, Blynken of the trio Wynken, Blynken and Nod, finding her freedom from the barn and my tackling her in the ditch. There is lots more to the story, including Bruce always saying how the story gets better every time I tell it, and that may be true. Blynken, by the way, was safely returned to a pen, and obviously, I lived to tell the tale. 

I also usually tell the story about Asa, one of the llamas who was sick with Lyme's Disease and with Bruce out of town, I needed to give him a shot in his shoulder. "Think about it, where is a llamas shoulder?" I ask, demonstrating with my hands, an imaginary llama's neck and its long body. Asa survived and so did I.

These are good stories, ones that are entertaining and funny, but lately I have been wondering why it is these specific stories I choose to tell when I talk about our life at Sweetwater Farm. My feelings about living there are so much more complex than what I share in these amusing stories, for Sweetwater Farm is a sacred place, a sanctuary for many over the years. So much happened during the eleven years we lived there--so much life, but also death. So many changes and challenges and growth. 

I ask myself, what is it I want people to know when I tell these stories to new audiences? What image do I want people to have of me? I am not an athletic person. I am more urban than rural and not even an outdoorsy kind of person. I am more inclined to books and reading and writing than tending farm animals, so perhaps I want people to see beyond the obvious. Or perhaps I want just the opposite--to shelter my story in something lighthearted and playful.

If someone were to interview you, and ask you to share three stories about yourself--not just facts, but stories with you in the lead role, what would you share? And why? What do these stories reveal about you? 

What stories do you repeat? Why is it important to tell these stories and know they have been heard? What do you learn about yourself in the retelling of a story? It is hard sometimes to hear the same story more than once, but the challenge for the listener is to try to hear something new in the same old story. Not easy to do. 


Now go even deeper. What stories in your life don't you share? At least not until someone knows you much, much better. What do those stories reveal about you and what about them requires deeper intimacy? These are the kinds of stories I hear when I meet with someone in spiritual direction or when one is nearing the end of life or when life seems to have fallen apart and we look for answers, for redemption, for resurrection. 

Diane Millis in her book, Re-Creating A Life, Learning How to Tell Our Most Life-Giving Story says "Any story can provide a portal," and "Any story can offer more revelation."

               We are all being held in a limitless narrative
               frame: our stories and Love's action in them
               are never complete or finished. The invitation
               to re-create our lives through the stories we tell
               about them is a life-long quest. May we all be 
               given the "eyes to see, and ears to hear" our 
               most life-giving story.  p 19. 

So back to my stories about tackling the sheep and being a caregiver to a sick llama. The stories, in fact, are life-giving stories. for me. I stretched in ways I could not have imagined myself doing.  Life at Sweetwater Farm was life outside the box for me, and these stories are illustrations of that fact. There is so much more than these two stories, but these are a beginning, an opening. And if you know me for any period of time, you will probably hear me tell these stories again. Sorry about that! 

An Invitation
What are the stories your family says you repeat? What do you want them to know about you? I would love to know.