Saturday, May 14, 2011


At this point in my life, my job has become being a storyteller. I share the stories of my life not to elicit praise, or pity, or anything, other than to share my stories just in case someone needs to hear them.My godson suggests that ..."maybe its time to embrace a new role as a've done it before, but this time the story will be your story. maybe the blog fills that need. or maybe you could write a memoir. just initial thoughts. seems like integrating all the parts of your life story and telling that story (realizing that there will be more chapters added to it as time goes by) might have some merit at this stage of development."

I have been considering what he wrote to me, and there were other things in the letter. But, the storyteller seems to be where I ma supposed to be. I remember the stories that my father told. Even as Alzheimer's disease took parts of his mind, he was still able to share his stories for quite a while. He might not know who we were or where he was quite a  lot of the time, but he remembered his stories until just a few months before the end of his life. I am not sure he didn't still remember them then, he just had lost the ability to communicate them.

My favorite auntie, you met her in the Lemon Drop post, was a story teller. She loved sharing her stories with us 'younguns'. She did not share some of them until we were adults, old enough to see more than one side. She answered questions, and she loved us all. So the job of storyteller is a proud one in my family, and I am enjoying thinking about which stories I should be sharing.

Integrating the parts of my life as a storyteller will be an important exercise for me. I have always thought of the different parts of my life as different lives.I will often say things like "that was from my life as an actress, or that was a hundred years ago in my life as a designer, or during my life as a news director" But the truth is they are all from this one life. This one amazing, interesting, frustrating, scary life that I have been blessed to make my way through.

Are you wondering what the photos are? Well, that is a pottery representation of a storyteller. It looks very much like Native American pottery representations of a storyteller. But this pottery sculpture was crafted by an 8 year old autistic child. She sits on a shelf with some other sculptures created by the same child. You know how you can see something every day and then one day you SEE it? That is what happened to me this morning. I was dusting her shelf and all of a sudden in my head,"that's his storyteller" literally boomed and echoed. 

So here we are, the storyteller. Notice she has multiple children sitting on her ample lap? Well, she does. I am not a very good photographer, but she is an amazing representation of a storyteller. I am blessed that this part of my life I am meant to be a storyteller, and I thank my Creator for showing that to me. Sometimes when we least expect it Creator will remind us who we are, why we are, and where we a going.

So, I will be trying to share my stories more regularly. They will be interesting or boring, but they will be my stories, or maybe my fathers stories or my auntie's stories, but they will be our stories and  Stories exist to be shared.


p.s.This is hard but I honestly feel Spirit pushing me to ask you to please notice the paypal button. I ask humbly that you consider asking Most High if you are supposed to share a blessing with us. We have several needs right now...a tank of gas, the co-pay for my doctor appointment this week...approximately 300 dollars to keep the electricity and cable on. The cable includes our internet, phone, and TV for my son. We are trusting Most High for provision during this difficult time in our life, and would just ask that you seek God's heart on whether you are meant to be part of that provision.

1 comment:

Andrea said...

EB, I love the storyteller sculpture, and am glad you'll be sharing more stories of your life with us. It's amazing to me that you went to college right near where I live, and I think of you every time I drive by there.

For two months each summer, my mom, brother, & I lived with her parents. My grandfather was a night owl like I am (I recently learned that he used to work night shift; could have something to do with it). Anyway, some of my favorite memories are of us sitting up together after everyone else had gone to bed. We would trade foot rubs, and I would listen to his stories. Some of my favorite childhood memories are from that time. I miss his gentle voice and warm hands.

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