Thank God for stories

I have been grateful for the stories that I have been able to hear and read in my life. They have been the beginning of my own stories. 

Story tellers have been the means of passing on the lessons and wisdom down through all civilizations. My father was a story teller. He was a history teacher at Pleasant Grove Jr. High. He taught English and History there for many years. When we traveled together in the car, he would tell us stories of the pioneers of Utah or the settlers of America. I could listen for hours as he created the images and characters in my minds eye. They came to life as he described their hardships and triumphs. It helped to pass the time when there were 7 or 8 squished into our car. I think he would be proud of me now. I have attempted to carry on his story telling, I hope one day to be able to capture his abilities.

I have several boxes of genealogy that I brought back to Escalante, I got them from my mother. I have looked briefly through them to see what those boxes contained. I have pages and pages of names and dates. The names and dates are from my ancestors, many from this area and some who lived in this house. I have been disappointed because there are very few stories about those ancestors. I can look at a birth date and a death date and wonder what came between those 60 or 80 years. I know they must have lived lives that were worthy of some notes. I am sure there may have even been some stories worthy of a major motion picture. I looked at the old Black and White pictures I found in those boxes. I can only imagine the stories behind them, only some have names and others are left blank.

I was up in my attic last year, organizing, compacting, and labeling some of the old things that were left here over the past 131 years. While I was there with a flashlight and a vacuum I discovered a small bundle of wrapped cotton with a ribbon tied around it. I carefully untied the ribbon and unrolled the bundle. Inside I found another ribbon tied carefully around a long braid of reddish hair. My mind immediately began to wonder at who it belonged to, why it was here behind the old pictures of my ancestors and why it was carefully tucked away in this little niche. I wish it had come with a note or a letter to explain more...

I have enjoyed the short quotes and statements that are posted here on face book. Most are from someone else’s posting. They are clever and thought provoking and humorous. Some of the humor I have been embarrassed to pass on, but I still laugh out loud at our world and the things we do.

The things I find most meaningful are the personal stories of triumph over tragedy. Those personal insights to lessons learned have helped to make my own journey lighter. I thank you all for daring to share your personal lives and inner thoughts and allowing me to hear the rest of your story. When I see you now, I see more than a name and a birthday. I hope to hear more of your successes and your failures. I would rather hear it from you now, before I have to read about you in an obituary. I would love to ask questions and hear about the experiences that gave you the wisdom that made you into the amazing beings that you are. 

In the beginning, before there were people, there were no stories. Only a hope of ...  “Once upon a time...”

Thank God for stories.

Glad Journal

I have been made aware this day of the many blessings that I have. I want to express my joy and love of life.

It wasn’t alway so. I have had moments where I was dragging my self along, just to get through each day. Wishing the day would be over so I could sleep and forget the unpleasant things in my life. 

I loved to sleep in when I was younger. I could easily sleep until noon. My parents would call down to wake me up and eventually I would drag out of bed and come upstairs to get something to eat. Half the day would be gone and it would take me hours to get going.

I grew out of that phase, and now I enjoy the beauty of a sunrise, the freshness of the new day. I still sleep in occasionally. Sometimes my body needs the extra rest.

I greet each new day with the anticipation of Christmas morning. As a kid I couldn’t wait for Christmas morning to arrive. We would gather and watch each person open their presents. In my family we took turns opening presents. In a family of 8 children, it takes awhile for everyone to get through all the presents. Christmas was all about the anticipation of the moment. Ripping that paper and discovering a new toy or outfit. Once everyone had opened all the presents and the paper had been picked up, we would open each package and spend the rest of the day in Christmas heaven. We didn’t care that we were still in our pajama’s. Breakfast lasted most of the day. 

As I got older I helped on Christmas Eve to get things ready for my younger brothers. I enjoyed assembling the new toys, talking with my parents, and feeling the spirit of Christmas.

There was a time in my life when I didn’t celebrate Christmas. I was not happy with life. I did not anticipate the new day, I slept in, missing the beauty of the sunrise, and the freshness of new possibilities.

I blamed others for my state of mind and unhappiness. The job. The government. The barking dogs. The garbage on the road. If only “They” would change, then I would be happy. It took years for me to see, “They” could never make me happy. Only I could make that change and conscious choice to be happy.

I have watched Pollyanna many times over the years. Each time I enjoy her enthusiasm and innocence. Her way of showing others a new way of looking at life and the possibilities. I have taken that lesson and used it to change my life.

I keep a glad journal. When I have a good day hiking, learn a new truth, or discover a new happy song, I record it in my book. I listen to happy and uplifting music. I rarely listen to anything that is depressing or degrading. I am not interested in betrayed love, dead hound dogs, or how to kill a lover. My music library is now nearing 3,800 songs. I listen to music from many cultures and era’s. There are many inspired composers and talented vocalists to help enhance each day.

In my old life, I kept another kind of journal. It was a record of all my hurts and wounds caused by betrayals and hurtful people. I carefully relived each event and made sure to share these unhappy experiences with anyone who would listen. I found comfort in others who shared my unhappiness. I helped to stir the pot of life’s unhappy ingredients with other unhappy chiefs. At the end of the cook-off we were all losers.

Feelings are one of the ways that I now measure my experiences. Do I feel depressed? Am I angry? Am I sickened? ... OR ... Does this bring me fulfillment? Do I feel happy? Do I feel uplifted? 

My life has been filled with happy and unhappy lessons and experiences that have shaped and refined me. My book of life is not that different from anyone else’s. We tell our stories. The choice of which stories we choose ... that is up to us.