Recently I’ve been saving up stories, but not for this blog. In the past weeks I’ve been storing up words, but not for any means of jotting them down. All that I’ve been storing up inside of me has been for my voice and for the ears of those who will listen.
Through this process of blogging I’ve learned a lot about myself and one thing I have learned is: one should not be too hasty to tell a story. Sometimes being hasty ruins a story you long so desperately to tell. I had experienced this multiple times. A moment would come, that I’d want to share more than anything, so I’d quick run to my computer, write it up and publish it here. When I went to tell it later, however, I’d get the response, “Oh yeah, I read about that on your blog.” This, in and of itself was not a bad thing, but deep down inside I was heart broken, and it was my fault. I was not saving up the best stories, and waiting to tell them for the first time, but I was sloppily jotting them down for a world that might never respond beyond, “Oh yeah I read that”.
So, recently I’ve been saving up stories. I’ve saved up the best stories for those I love and hold dear; I’ve stored up the most exciting experiences to tell to others in person, first. There is such a profound joy in this. When I tell a story the response is no longer a bland, “Oh yeah I read that,” but rather, mystery intersects with discovery. In the moment of the telling I see eyes, and minds, open wide to hear the tale being told; I see hearts running side by side with mine; and I see lives encouraged by the first hearing of the first telling.
In that moment I want to be a story teller and I long for others to hear my stories.