Our Stories...

I have a couple of friends. They’re not my only friends...but they’re good friends. Very good friends. We were rebellious youth pastor’s together back in the day. We have many stories that are best not shared here.

Each year when I come home to Canada we get together and do something fun. I think they’re trying to relive the wild days of our early years in ministry. It’s understandable really...they’re both senior pastors now. I live in South America with ten ex-street kids...so I have enough adventure in my life. But I like to tag along with them. They’re much smarter than I am, so I’m always hopeful I’ll learn something by accident. I try to listen when they’re having their deep theological discussion but honestly, my mind usually starts to wander. Sometimes they’ll start laughing and I’ll laugh along like I know what’s going on. But I really don’t.

Last time we got together, we went to a wilderness riding retreat that one of the guys had heard about. He’d read about it in a brochure. We all imagined a nice, rustic lodge where you slept in beds and looked out the windows at the pretty mountains. Turns out he didn’t really read that brochure closely enough. He admitted later that he only glanced at the details.

It was a hard core riding camp where everyone was wearing cowboy hats and boots and long duster cowboy jackets. And army fatigues. I felt out of place in my Sketchers and MEC fleece jacket. Oh...and we slept in tents.

I wanted to turn around and head back to Calgary without even getting out of the van. Fortunately the guys felt guilty doing that so we went in and talked with the cowboy people. We ended up sticking around and it turned into one of the most entertaining and fun-filled three days of my life. One of the cowboys loaned me his winter jacket...so it was all good.

This year that same friend suggested a spiritual retreat centre he knew about. He’d been there before, so he was a little more familiar with this place...which was nice. I enjoyed that last adventure immensely, but I wasn’t really in the mood for another “Let’s sleep in tents and commune with nature” experiences. Besides, it’s -30 C out there. I’m all about the central heating on this trip.

We’re all in different cities now, so we met in Calgary where one of the guys lives. We crashed at his house and being senior pastors they both wanted to get up early to leave for the retreat. Being not a senior pastor, I wasn’t a big fan of the idea. But my friend cooked bacon for breakfast and I am a big fan of bacon. So it worked out.

I’m not really sure what I was expecting. I’ve been so busy I’m not even sure I’d thought much about it. But when we drove up this little, snowy lane through towering pine trees and we saw this nice...wooden...lodge looking out at us through the forest...I knew my friend had redeemed himself.

One of the staff members showed me to my room and I almost cried. A big double bed in a room I didn’t have to share with anyone and a window overlooking this beautiful river valley. It was amazing. After checking out the library, I soon found myself in a building they called “The Greenhouse”. One of the guys fired up the wood burning stove and we settled in with our books. They both had books by authors I didn’t know about things I didn't really understand. But that’s okay. Like I said...they’re both smarter than I am.

I sat there with my book with my feet up and the warm sun shining through the windows, and for the first time in a long while...I felt myself relax. I don’t get a lot of opportunities to sit quietly and read. Usually if I need to get away from the gong show that is our house, I take my book and go to Burger King. And while I appreciate their air conditioning...it’s not a place I consider conducive to peace and quiet.

It was a good feeling to sit there and just read in silence.

Well...mostly in silence. At one point I noticed that my friend’s breathing was getting loud. I ignored it at first...but then it got louder...and louder. I finally glanced over at him and realized he was praying. At least I think he was praying. His book was on his lap, his head was down and his eyes were closed. He’s pretty spiritual so, you know, I imagine that’s what he was doing. I guess he just breathes louder when he prays.

I read a whole book that day. And not even a little, wimpy book. A real book. Maybe not a deep, theological book...but a book none the less. And it really spoke to me. Or rather God spoke to me I guess.

The book was about the Story of God and how our stories...lives... are a part of the Story God is writing.  The author talked about the significance of our stories and being aware of the lives we’re living. He wrote about worrying that someday when he sat down with God to talk about his life and what he did with it, there would be awkward silences and pauses and that he wouldn’t really have anything to say.

I braved the cold later that afternoon and went for a walk with my camera down to the river. It was cold. But I enjoy taking pictures and it helps me to think. As I walked I wished I’d been able to find long johns at Walmart. I also realized how much I enjoy the story that God’s given me. The adventures and great moments I’ve been able to experience. But as I thought about it, I realized that I’ve been less thankful lately, for my part in His Story.

There are lots of reasons I could give, but they don’t really matter. What matters is that God gently reminded me that the story I write with my life is important. It’s not just about Bolivia and street kids and being a missionary. For sure it’s about those things too, but it’s more than that. It’s about my heart and my choices and who I am when no one is watching. It’s about God and who He is. It’s about being thankful for the part I’ve been given. And continuing to write my part of the Story.

Our last night, my two friends and I sat around the fire (in the warm lodge) long after everyone else went to bed and ate cookies and talked about our lives and the stories we were writing.  They didn't put it that way exactly, but it fits with the metaphor and it's what we were doing.  We talked about the good parts and the funny parts and the parts that were painful.  We laughed a lot and told some great stories that are best not shared here. 

Then we prayed for each other and I realized once again how grateful I am for my friends and for their stories. Their stories are a part of my story. Later that evening in my room I thought about how all of our stories are a part of God's Story and how beautiful that is.  It made me thankful again.

From the book...

“If I have a hope, it’s that God sat over the dark nothing and wrote you and me, specifically, into the story. He put us in with the sunset and the rainstorm as if to say, Enjoy your place in my story. The beauty of it means you matter, and you can create within it even as I have created you.”

“We live in a world where bad stories are told, stories that teach us life doesn’t mean anything and that humanity has no great purpose. It’s a good calling, then, to speak a better story. How brightly a better story shines. How grateful we are to hear these stories and how happy it makes us to repeat them.”

God has given us an amazing Story. And within that Story He’s given us the opportunity to interweave our stories with His. I live in a place where there are many bad stories. What a joy it is to hear and be able to speak a better story.