Last night my daughter Rain and I stayed up late soaking up every drop of the longest day of the year. We camped out in the backyard beneath the cedar, bamboo and stars. I haven’t had to crack open a book for the last week or so because she has been so enthralled with my renditions of certain Bible stories.
“Can I hear Shedrack, Mesheck and Abendigo again daddy?”
I’m getting pretty good at that one. Last night was the fourth or fifth time I told it to her. And each time I add more little embellishments that the story seems to want me to tell. I’ve never actually read the story from the bible, but I get the jist. Then, like a good Grateful Dead song transition, I ooze into the story of David and Goliath, or maybe Noah and the Ark. Last night it was Moses parting the Red Sea. I take my time with each story because I don’t know that many to be honest, and I need to make them last.
The Moses story ended with the Red Sea crashing in on Pharoh’s army. It was really quite a climax and I was deeply engaged with the excitement. I’m pretty sure Rain fell asleep before this triumphant ending but I sure as the burning bush enjoyed it. (Yes I totally included that part, pulling from my memories of the one time as an 8 year old I saw the 1956 Chariton Heston “The Ten Commandments”).
But since Rain was asleep, the stories stopped. I still have Daniel and the Lion’s den, Jonah and the Whale, some New Testement Jesus material, but I had accomplished the task of lulling the child into dreamworld. Good job dad.
I then laid back with a smile on my face. I had enjoyed the stories so much myself, as if they had come alive through my telling of them. I had tapped into the living pulse of these stories as they have been told over and over for centuries. How many kids throught the vast history of our time must have said “again! Again! Tell that one again!”
I was pleased with the day, grateful for my life, for the gift of having these stories to share, and grateful for the connection Rain and I have in these bed time sagas.
Then my mind began to wander. Moses had already parted the red sea, Sherack, Meshack and Abendigo were out of the furnace, Nebuchadnezzar had transformed from an egocentric psycho to a God loving leader.
Thus I began noticing the less than fascinating stories running through my head. And dear Lord were they boring. Just boring stories of worries, regrets, going into the past to try and fix it, going into the future to micro-manage and control. Oh my God, forget it. I prefer the stories of Moses and the bible heroes so much more.
Shocked by the contrast of the quality of story I was entertaining myself with in my head, I realized I have the power to tell different ones. I have the remote control and can change channels whenever I want. What a relief.
When you stop to think of it, you see that stories make up everything. I have a theory that the strings in what is considered string theory in physics is really the stories that create the tapestry of the Universe. Everything is story. “In the beginning was the word” kind of thing.
What kinds of stories am I telling myself? What movie am I creating? How hard is to actually change?
MUSICAL CREDITS from this episode: "Abendigo" by The Abyssinians
