By Katie Guertin-Anderson, Spiritual Life Director
We are made of stories. They connect us and unearth deep feelings within. Stories remind us that we are interwoven into each other’s lives.
I grew up on a farm. As a kid, I traipsed around the fields near our home pretending to be a paleontologist looking for dinosaur bones, while my mom watched from the kitchen window. One day, as I searched for a new dig site, I came dangerously close to the electric fence that divided the property – the fence I knew I was forbidden to touch. With every step I made toward the fence, my mom saw my facial expression shift: from trepidation, to curiosity, to mischief and, finally, to defiance. She was stunned as she watched me make a final, impish look toward her before grabbing a fistful of fence and promptly falling backward after the shock rattled my body. My mom ran out the back door toward what she feared was my broken body. But before she’d even made it halfway there she saw me stand up, look back at her one more time with an urgency she’d not seen before, and grab the fence again, this time with both hands and an unmistakable grin across my face.
This is a core story that shaped my life. It helps me to make meaning out of many of my life experiences and to make sense of why I am the way I am. I’m curious about what is “off-limits” to me; I want to experience things for myself, rather than trust someone else’s rules for me.
We all have stories like this, and when we tell our stories to one another, we not only make meaning for our own lives but also open the door for deeper connection with others. This year at L’Arche Tahoma Hope (LTH), our community theme is “My Story, Your Story, Our Story.” This theme comes from LTH’s desire to experience the world in deeper and more complex ways and to know one another more significantly. In a culture where busyness is valued over slow, steady days, and texts and tweets are more important than sharing stories around the dinner table, we are all longing to know one another in ways that transcend the surface of our lives. We want to be connected more than to be separate; more together than alone. In order to “work toward a more human society” – our mission – we need to listen to each other.
Sue Mosteller, a recent guest at LTH, spoke at L’Arche Daybreak when their community turned 50. She talked about Rosie, a core member. For years, Rosie screamed all the time. It was almost unbearable, because those who lived with Rosie wanted badly to support her, care for her, and love her. Rosie had been taught all her life that she was not beloved. She was treated as if her needs didn’t matter. Sue realized that it would take a long time for Rosie to unlearn what she believed to be true about herself and instead to learn the truth of her belovedness. In time, Rosie taught hundreds of assistants about trust, vulnerability and courage. Rosie’s story shook my bones. When I heard it, I felt like I’d grabbed hold of that forbidden electric fence of my childhood. I heard the truth of what it meant to be human. I felt a deep desire to expand my heart and life in new ways, which ultimately opened the door to finally being part of L’Arche. It is amazing to me that Rosie is still gifting others with her story, and I am so grateful I felt my story connect with her story in this way.
Sharing our stories is not always easy, and listening to others’ stories can be challenging, too. This work calls for courage, curiosity, patience and generosity. In a world that continues to push us further into the aloneness of our own homes and devices, the act of storytelling is an act of resistance to a culture that all too often divides us rather than unites us.
As I think about my story of enthusiastically (albeit foolishly) grabbing the electric fence, and Rosie’s story that stirred me toward finding a L’Arche community, I’m reminded that there is always risk involved in sharing our stories. But, it is impossible to create a shared story without being willing to enter into relationship in the first place. Maybe getting to the “Our Story” part of all this sometimes means reaching out toward what we fear: approaching each other first with trepidation, then curiosity, and finally with enthusiasm for what we’ll discover if we just grab ahold, first with one hand, then both, and hold on for dear life.
