Be a storyteller

Many years ago, in the beginning of our relationship, Dick asked me when I knew I loved him.  I was a bit shy about telling him.  Not because I didn't love him but it seemed such an unromantic moment.  I was in the college dorm and getting ready to take a shower.  I was in the first stall. It was the one farthest from the window, so the light was dim.  Just as I stepped into the shower, it hit me!  I was in love and I knew with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life! I know this is highly unusual but most of my life revelations have come brushing my teeth and driving in the car.  Those must be the times I am listening to my heart.  In my mind, the moment is clear and vivid yet.

Deuteronomy 4:9-11 reminded me that we are all called to be story tellers.  Moses tells the Israelites to be careful and watch themselves closely so that they don't forget what God has done before them.  They are not to let these memories slip from their hearts and they are to share them with their children and grandchildren.

I should have been a journal-er.  I had good intentions.  I have several adorable, covered notebooks with one or two pages written and many blank pages.  I had good intentions.  I really did want to record the details of life's memories.  We live in a world ruled by dates and time.  Those details seem to be most valued.

Yet, this morning, I am convinced that the condition of the heart at a particular moment is what should be remembered.  Neither Dick nor I remember the date that I decided to give my heart to Jesus.  Yet we both remember the emotion and the state of our hearts.

I vividly remember getting the phone that announced Adam's arrival.  I was in the vet's office with a sick dog.  Somehow the church secretary found me. I remember the vet's assistant coming in and telling me to phone Mary.  I knew this was the moment we had waited for and at last, it had come!  I remember stopping at the first phone booth I could find - yes, it was so long ago, there were phone booths! I treasure the moment in my heart, not the dog, the vet or the phone booth. I treasure the joy, the hope and the excitement.

When I look back and remember, I don't go back to the college dorm or the phone booth to renew that loving feeling.  I have treasured these moments in my heart, just as Moses told the Israelites. We don't have to go back to the physical spot.  We should go back to the spiritual spot when God spoke.  Those vivid details help us remember but the important part is the heart.

So, at least as far as my relationship with God and His intervention in my life,  I am called to tell the stories to my family.  I am to share the joy, the comfort, the relief, the love with those closest to me. The repetition of telling children, because they will ask you to tell them again and again, will dig the memory deeper into my heart and theirs.

I have a life mission to have dozens of scrapbooks chronicling our life's trips, events and momentous occasions. It's a life's work to manage the time and details of life and try to remember them.  Yet my real mission is to save all those heart moments, to treasure them in my heart and to tell them to my children and grandchildren.  By sharing my heart moments with my family, I will teach others about God and how to revere God.