So I wrote a book.  Mostly I told my own story but to tell my story in some places I had to tell the stories of others.  In our home that’s kind of a rule.  It’s not your story, you don’t get to tell it.  When I asked my kids to read my book, so they would have that opportunity to say, “Mom! If you tell that story, I will never speak to you again!”  Then I could know if I had gone a little too far, turn around and bargain with them, and tell at least part of the story.  Instead I got responses like “I didn’t know that.”  or “Where was I when that happened?”  There seemed to be an overall desire for more of the story.  They wanted more of my story, more of my parents stories and more stories of themselves from when they were too young to remember.

Its more than just nostalgia.  I remember wanting more stories myself from my dad who had a million stories but they never seemed personal enough.  It was like I have a hundred funny stories about people and places that I don’t know, or don’t know well.  What I don’t have is a hundred funny stories about things my dad did as a kid with his siblings or parents or friends. What I don’t have is the story of how my parents met and fell in love.

I know my father broke his arm in a car accident that was bad and that it required surgery.  He lost some teeth in that accident too.  I loved my dad’s partial plate.  I guess I loved that he would take it out and smile to make me laugh.  My dad’s smile was gorgeous when he got a full plate, but it made me a little sad.  But I don’t know anymore about that accident that could have killed him.

I thought I had been different with my kids.  I thought I was always telling and retelling my same old stories; my mom and dad’s stories, and my sister’s stories. I feel like I’m always repeating the same old stories but apparently I’ve missed a kid or two, or a story or two.

It was a good idea for me to write that book just for me.  It was an excellent journey that I needed.  God used that book and that process in so many ways.  I learned a lot about myself in the process. Maybe it was just a start.

Maybe there are more stories to capture for the kids and grandkids.  After all I won’t be here forever and someone ought to pass them on.  We’re a very entertaining family, full of joy and laughter!  We may border on demented but only if you don’t have a good sense of humor.  We love to play.  There are so many stories.

Its so easy to forget the details, forget to tell the stories.  We all seem to long for it!  We long for that connection to our story.  How the ripples in the pond affected us.  So we can understand why we do what we do.  We have a need to connect to it all.  I do.  That’s why I loved that “the rest of the story…”  I want to understand and connect.  And I want to laugh, at myself and at life, don’t you?  We want to remember the laughter.  “We were filled with laughter, and we sang for joy.  And the other nations said, ‘What amazing things the Lord has done for them!'”  Palm 126:2.

That He has indeed.  Go write your stories!