Your Story, My Story

What is your story? What is my story? What is the story of the person in the room with you right now? What is the story of your co-workers? What about the people you pass on the street every day?

I just started reading What is the What? The story of one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. Even after the first few pages I started asking myself these questions. We each have a story, our story. But how often do we let our own story be heard? Or take the time to hear where other people have come from?

If someone asked you right now, this very moment, to tell your own story what would you say? How would you begin? Would it flow together and make sense, or would it be fragmented and out of order?

One night after dinner and a long hard day of work, one of the young Nigerian workcampers asked for the elders among us to share stories from their childhood. Ralph, a 76 year old gentleman who grew up in Nigeria shared several humorous stories. Something about a spitting cobra in the outhouse... Then this young man, Isau, shared his story. His entire story. I wish I had been able to catch more than I did. He was very passionate in his sharing. Then my dear friend Anthony shared his story. It was one of hope and happiness and trust and love and faith and determinaton. His story flowed and it left me wanting to hear more and to learn more about this man and his family.

It seemed to me that the men and women that I was able to work with and get to know, knew three things. They knew:

1. Who they were.
2. Where they came from.
3. Where they are going.

Now, while that may be a very generalized statement, I find that it is not the case for me. I struggle everyday with who I am. I struggle everyday with where I am going from here. I have no idea. Sometimes I think that maybe I know. But I find myself becoming almost paralyzed from all the options and opportunities that I have.

But each and every day I find myself thinking about my own story. And how, when asked, I might tell it.