Life’s stories


I was taught, many years ago, that when writing, you should always have a well defined beginning, middle and end. This is especially true when writing stories. Without a good introduction to the characters and plot in the beginning, the story flounders. Without a good buildup in the middle, the reader will quickly lose interest. And if the end has no depth, and little conclusion the writer may fade into a reader’s forgotten pile.

Life itself has at least one beginning, middle and end. The whole story includes everything from our birth to our death. That is the entirety of our story. But in our lives we live multiple stories. Our stories are intertwined with the stories of others. There are many beginnings, just as many middles and a multitude of endings.

How does my life affect others? What part of their story am I? Where do they fit in my stories? Where am I in my story right now? Is there enough there to keep the participants in my life active, and engaged? Do I have a good story? When the final chapter is written, will my story be revisited?

This is where I am. I hope to make my story a good one…

6 thoughts on “Life’s stories”

  1. jamiahsh, not just is that all I am, but more “How do I affect others?”. What is my place? Am I making a difference? I’ve never really been concerned about the nothing more, instead I ask “Can I be more?”. Tell me, how can I add to your story….

  2. Learning about God and strengthening my relationship with Him has helped me with these questions. Learning to serve Him and live for His word is teaching me to have to wonder things like “what is my place”, “am I making a difference” less often because I am learning to trust Him to help me have a place and make a difference.

    Some good thoughts here.

  3. You make a difference! You are in my stories; I tell people all about my “Daddy.” The time you took me to see the Care Bear movie, and bought me Care Bear underwear a week later. Fishing, and letting me throw my catch back so he could go home to his family. Taking my best friend and I to a haunted house, and scaring the daylights out of us on the way home. Building castles and spaceships and Antarctic stations with me out of Legos. Taking me on a “date,” so I would know how to be treated. “Playing” Barbies with me. Explaining that I couldn’t marry Indiana Jones or Han Solo, because they weren’t real people. Not explaining that I couldn’t marry Harrison Ford.
    Really, all my stories come down to one thing, though. You love me. Which makes the story about taking me to IHOP even better.

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