Minimum Speed Limit

In the words of Tom Cochrane, Life is a Highway. (Beware, by clicking this link, the song will be in your head for days.) So, let's say, for the sake of argument, that life really is like a highway. It's a worthy comparison and one that I've spent some time thinking about this morning in relation to who I am.

I seem to have spoken/written a vocational description into being when I added 'storyteller' to my business card almost 2 years ago-ooh, call it providence. I get a cute, warm, fuzzy picture of a bunch of kids squirming around in a semi-circle in the library of Neill Elementary school when I first think of storytellers. But after letting this image go and embracing the term in its timelessness, I sense a great responsibility to try and fill the shoes of this role. I could, of course, scrap the stacks of business cards for a sharper descriptor, but wouldn't that be boring?

So, life is a highway and I often find myself in the slow lane, turtling along at 40 mph. There are lots of cars on the road and with every rotation of every tire, each car/person is experiencing another little patch of life it hadn't the moment before. And with cars speeding along at 65 mph, and every rotation bringing new encounters, smells, words, thoughts, it's hard to imagine how much life we experience in one short trip down the highway. It's time-consuming enough to digest our side of the story at 40 mph, but imagine the speedsters flitting from one destination to the next at 70+.

While turtling along at 40 (this doesn't mean I'm an underachiever or slacker as I've also come to appreciate), the rushing of traffic is to my mind's ear and eye an onslaught of small graces, conversations, major life events, menial tasks, elation-the gamut. It's the trip to Chicago this past week to celebrate the life of Mary's Grandmother and everything those 2 days brought with it: reuniting with extended family (and for me in-laws), laughter, tears, a passing of the torch, seeing again our vulnerable lives in the reflection of eternity, trying to bridge relational gaps, and of course the 15 hours in the car which is another story altogether). Each of these pieces can be transcribed and crafted into a worthy narrative that holds a nugget or ten within. Instead, I'm forced to pick and choose which I have time for and the others will have to settle with being tossed in the back seat alongside empty doughnut bags and Starbucks cups.

I'm reading Improving Your Storytelling by Doug Lipman (and had you told me I'd be doing so 10 years ago I would have laughed and taken you off of my Christmas card list). It's a great tool to help develop your aural storytelling skills. Yes, you are a storyteller, too. We do it all the time when we share stories around the dinner table, tell a spouse about our day, recount embarrassing moments at a party. It's just that with life whizzing by, we have to develop an eye and ear for those stories that we need to communicate-those with teaching moments, truth and common ground for the human experience. It's why we're drawn to novels and movies, because we find our stories in those of others.

The speed limit in our society seems to increase all the time and it shows no signs of slowing down. This is not to say we just stop the car. But maybe it means picking a few of our stories, honing them and putting them in our back pockets for use in the right situation. Master them, tell them in different ways to different 'audiences' and enjoy being a conduit for God's creativity and voice. Telling stories is a gift-to the teller and the receiver.

So, go on! Tell your stories, pass the tradition, open lines of communication, break down walls.

You don't need a business card.