| Sunny Side Up! November 7, 2001 � 2001, by Kathleen Gibson Remembering our stories teaches important lessons I completed the last page of my journal recently and felt that I�d accomplished something major�the equivalent of a master�s thesis, at least. Some of the pages are dog-eared, some tear stained, some full of lines scribbled so furiously they�re a struggle to read. Between its covers are years of silent screams, prayers and pain, wonder and joy. It�s not great literature, but it�s my story, and no other book will ever be wholly devoted to the telling of it. A story of one�s own is a mystical, mighty thing. Sociologists have found that a society divorced from its stories becomes dysfunctional. I shudder to imagine the horror of a world bereft of the stories of last century�s wars. No Auswitch Diaries, no Solzhenitsyn�s Gulag Archipelago, no Diaries of Anne Frank; no letters from the front saved for great-grandchildren to ponder the taste of fear in a mud-slick, bloodied trench. To ponder and vow�.never, ever again. Other people�s stories captivate us�the rich and famous, the strange and unusual, the comedic and somber. We read them, we watch them on big and small screens, we flock to see them on stage. But our own stories, which could affect lives of family members for generations, we often ignore. One day, I want my great-grandchild to pick up my old journal and read that I failed at something big�floundered, got up and tried again. I want a grandson to find out that his grandmother prayed for him long before he was born. I want my children to read about all the nights I lay awake worrying about them, and then read that I�d do it all again, because they were worth it. I want my grandchildren to know I was grateful for hard times, because they proved I was tougher, smarter, more resilient than I thought I was, and that God was more faithful than I thought he was. I want them to cherish each other because they saw in my journal the consequences of waiting too long to do it. I have no grandchildren yet, but my old journals affect me too. In the reading I wade back into the current that carried me to where I am today. I remember the journey, penned paragraph by paragraph in my own�sometimes illegible�left-handed script. With the memories come gratitude and insight. As I page back I see a clear reflection of who I�m becoming as I grow up, and I�m given the choice to change course or forge ahead. �Deep in December, it�s nice to remember the fires of September that made us mellow,� the popular song reminds us. I like the last line best: �Try to remember, and if you remember, then follow.� I�ll start another journal tomorrow. But first I�ll flip through the old one, because it�s not only a society that needs to stay connected to its stories�..it�s me�and you too. What are you doing with your stories? Try to remember�and if you remember, then follow. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |