“Our lives are at once ordinary and mythical. We live and die, age beautifully or full of wrinkles. We wake in the morning, buy yellow cheese, and hope we have enough money to pay for it. At the same instant we have these magnificent hearts that pump through all sorrow and all winters we are alive on the earth. We are important and our lives are important, magnificent really, and their details are worthy to be recorded.”
Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones
Tell your story and you can change the world. This is how we lived. This is what we ate. This is where we planted the tulip bulbs with a soup spoon, the bulbs that bloomed anyway. This table holds the memories of a thousand dinner stories, these chairs wear the stains of their jelly and play-doh hands. This house was made a home the first night we slept here, the night I cried because the windows had no coverings and neither did my heart.
Our house may burn down to the ground, but no one can take our stories. You may argue the existence of God in the world but you cannot debate how he has carried us. You may say it’s impossible to travel in time, but you didn’t see how God bent time in my favor just last week. You can talk me out of my money and my clothes and my food, but you cannot withdraw my hope. And hope can change the world. And the only way I can show you my hope is by telling you my stories.