40 Lenten Reflections – #24
Years ago, on any given weekend, our 14-year-old son was typically riding bikes, exploring the woods, and climbing trees with a friend. One Saturday, he came home from the trails and told us a tree fell on him. Thankfully, his friend was able to lift it off as it was a small, older pine tree. He wore his bike helmet, so luckily, he only had a few scratches on his face and legs. On Monday at school, a classmate asked about the mark on his face. So, our son shared his story.
“So, do you have a video of it?” a boy asked.
“No video,” our son replied.
“Well then…it didn’t happen.” The boy said flatly.
They debated back and forth, and finally, our son, a professional selective listener, confirmed, “Yes, it did happen.” He then moved on, ignoring further hassle.
At bedtime, he told me this story, and we sat and picked it apart like old layers of paint peeling off a wall, trying to find the original color.
What happened to imagination and faith?
The boy’s need for documentation was testimony that technology negotiates our day with swipes, texts, and posts. We click pictures of our meals and memories, shorten words, and deliver messages as fast as our thumbs can go. Conversations dwindle with our busy lives, as does the age-old craft of storytelling. This is exactly what our son was doing.
As young children, there’s an unwavering faith in stories.
Maurice Sendak takes us to a wild rumpus and faithfully floats us home with Max as he arrives home to his warm dinner.
Faith in friendship is palpable when Charlotte sits in her web and says: “You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what’s a life, anyway? We’re born, we live a little while, we die. A spider’s life can’t help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone’s life can stand a little of that.”
― E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web
Faith requires vulnerability. Stripping the need for that which is tangible.
In “Yes, Virginia There is a Santa Claus” Francis Church interprets faith in his editorial in The New York Sun in 1897: “You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart.” When Mr. Church referred to “the skepticism of a skeptical age” in the story, he was speaking to grown-ups and the dwindling of religious faith among middle-class Americans in the 19th century. Faith in faith.
Now, that doubt cloaks children, too.
What I learned:
We make an emotional investment with every story we tell. Some may believe that if a tree falls on a boy in a forest, it’s true, but doubters will question and want video proof. The vital action is to tell the story, be the raconteur, and propel your listeners on a journey of faith.
Lenten Challenge: Keep story-telling alive!
Here’s to Another Good Day!
Thanks for joining me on my storytelling journey and having faith in me,
Lucretia
runonmom.com 