Over the last few weeks I have been threshing through an interesting concept. It was a thought that was breathed out of a Church message that noted the importance of telling stories. And of course, as a writer, I firmly believe that there is something intrinsically beautiful about telling stories.

Stories are like the details of an elaborate stage in which the play of life makes its production. There are characters and action, love stories and dramas, comedies and tragedies. However, there is so much more going on in the story line than the mere actions of the main characters. In a particularly winning show, there are lights, colors, textures, costumes, props, and scenes conveyed to the audience.  If we were to merely see the actions and thoughts of the few main characters, it could be compared to a small children’s play; a play in which all of the actors wore white Polo t-shirts and khaki pants, performing in the school cafeteria on a homemade stage. How much more could be experienced by the audience if the actions and thoughts of the main characters with accompanied by a playhouse, with a real stage, costumes, music, lights and all of the complexities of an elaborate production? 

Our lives are incredibly similar. My life has been a tumultuous, beautifully frustrating journey of a young girl, learning to trust a God and find her way in a world can be a little too backward. However, if you just look at these actions and parts, it is the “white polo and khaki” version. There is so much more to be seen if we examined the backdrop in which I entered onto the scene. I am talking about my mother’s story. Her life. Her struggles, her dreams, her character, and where she has been. And in turn, my grandmother’s story is equally crucial. My grandmother is beautiful older woman, who immigrated to the United States in her 20s. Her story was marked by bravery, heartache, desperation and joy. It was within my grandmother’s adventure that my mother arrived on the scene. All of the making of my grandmother’s story marked the stage for my mother to begin her piece, working within her dysfunctional family to make things come together; striving to ensure that her children could fall a little father from the tree than she did.

This is the beauty of the whole thing: I know my mother’s and my grandmother’s stories because I have the ability to share in life with them. I know and love my grandmother because she is inherently a part of my life. But should there not be the same “setting of the stage” with my grandmother’s mother, and the mother before that? Are we not all connected, each setting the stage for the one that is to come after? If so, if we write the scene in which our children will enter the world, how is it that telling our stories to our children is not one of the most valued traditions of our time? It is through telling our stories that we can truly understand one another, and come to appreciate their thoughts, actions, and happenings in this life.

Taking this truth and applying it to our spiritual lives, we can draw some interesting conclusions about the way that we relate to God. If we are serving a God that never changes, a God has been faithful throughout the generations, then the telling stories become critical. It is through the amazing adventures, huge losses, and deep passions of my life that I have learned to recognize the character of God. I know that He is faithful through the events in my life where He has truly shown up, proving that He is worthy to be trusted.  One of the most powerful tools I have to share my experiences is to share my story; and I can use this story to convey the character of my God to my children and my grandchildren.

This theory does not just hold true with my story, but my mothers and my grandmothers, because theirs bleed into mine, just as mine will into grandchildren ten generations from me. Ensuring that our stories are told not only connects generations in a powerful way, but reminds us who God was, is and will always be. It displays His glory beyond my short life time, giving the full picture of Himself in context; not the mere “white Polo and Khaki” version of one person’s life time, but the full fledged production of who He has been over the last 10 lifetimes of our family.

In addition to connecting generations to the character of God, sharing in our stories gives insight to who we really are. My mother’s story tells me where I came into the world. I can only know who I am, and where I am going, if I know who has come before me and where they have gone. Knowing who my parents were, and where they came from tells me who I am and what I am capable of. 

The stories of the women in our family lines are the most powerful tool we have in telling our daughters what we have over come, what we have battled against, and what parts of the fight they are to carry on for us. It pulls them into something so much bigger than themselves; something bigger than the slightly narcissistic world of MySpace pages, msn messenger, text messages, and picture mail. It pulls all those things from the forefront and declares a message that says “This journey you face is not only about you. You are one face in a long line of warriors. You have a task to carry out. We are all a legacy and you are bound into us simply through who you are- through your blood.”

All of these truths sit heavy with me. They are imitating. They are a powerful calling. They represent a responsibility that is larger than myself. A small selfish part of me enjoys the lie that “life is really all about me, my independence and my happiness. It is about finding myself, accepting myself, finding the right career, husband, house, car – becoming successful the way that I want to.” In on way, I really love the “Burger King” life motto – “You’re way, right away, at Burger King now.” A small part of me loves the lie that we aren’t all connected, that it’s about me having it my way right now.

But there is another part that believes that the “Burger King” life style isn’t enough for me. The small children’s version of the life play isn’t enough either. I don’t want life to be all my thoughts and feelings, with no context, no background, no stage, no lights, texture or culture. I don’t want to buy into the lie that it is really about being and independent woman that needs to find herself alone. There is a part of me that needs the call. It needs the truth. It needs the responsibility that it bigger than myself. I need to be connected to tremendous women dating back in the history of Mexico and Spain from generations ago.

It is only through this recognition, this telling of story, this passing of the gauntlet that I can really see the whole play before me. It is in this truth that I can see my role in the whole thing. This is a role that will put forth a call to my daughters that are to come. It is a calling that will usher me into a legacy; a legacy that will both bind me in…and call me out.