a story and a workshop

I came to Seattle to work. I expected to work on myself. That’s why I’ve come to The Seattle School. I haven’t seen a school that is systematically set up to help you into the fullness God has imagined you. Again, I’m here to work. I’m here to play. I’m here to see and live who I am underneath my pain and brokeness.

I’ve worked on my story before. I’m familiar with it. I haven’t spoken of it in Allenderese mind you. Yet, I have it in me. I know because I’ve gotten strange looks from people when I’ve used words like kindness and beauty that think that nice and pretty are synonyms. Merriam-Webster may tell you they are. I know better.

Out of the other side of my mouth I’ll say that I have haven’t really worked on my story. Perhaps not with the eyes of a loving father. I’ve looked at my story with the eyes of a venomous restaurant critic. Anton Ego of Ratatouille comes to mind.

This past weekend I attended The Story Workshop.  I think Dan and the gang lied to us by calling it a workshop.  Normal workshops are where information is shared and skills are honed or gained.  Places where parts are replaced.  As I write that I’m hearing an air-ratchet and imagining lug nuts. Let me tell you, it is so much more than a workshop.  Those last couple sentences are so feeble.  Who would knowingly go to a workshop to colide with their tragedy, let a lone their beauty?  I would. I did.  I will.

Honestly, I really don’t feel ready to post.  Being self-aware, I know I needed to post this week or the moment would pass.  I’m certainly not posting about my story here.  Not yet anyway.  Why not?  I’m not convinced you’ll be able to handle it without dropping it. Maybe you’ll try to give me advice or tell me “that’s just like the time I…”  Shut up. Just shut up and sit with me.   So, I’ll share my story with those that are able to hold it steadily.  They will enter into it and hurt and cry with me.  They will rejoice when I don’t see what the big deal is.  When the tears are rolling down my face they’ll smile out of kindness because they know that I’m beginning to see the beauty in me that God has seen all along.  This is the Seattle School.  This is why I’m here. This is why I went to The Story Workshop.

I have new eyes. I don’t see anyone the same. Especially myself. My work has barely started and the world is new already.  Its like I just switched from a 1950 Zenith to a Toshiba LCD.  I see pain and beauty every where I walk.  I see everyone in rich, wonderful colors, shining like a brilliant rainbow of God’s covenant. [I’d like to make a joke about sparkly vampires here, but it doesn’t seem to fit. And yes, parenthesis make it ok.]

I will share my story.  But you’ll have to share space with me for that to happen. If you’ve already helped me work with my story, chances are we’ll continue that work. For now, the phone will do.  Thanks again for walking with me.  I may not say that enough.

I hope. This is part of my story: continuing to hope despite being harmed in its midst.  I hope that you will consider this life giving workshop. Hopefully you will.  Then my cadence will change to: we wouldwe did  and we will.

2 thoughts on “a story and a workshop

  1. To avoid hearing “shut up” I will not commiserate… Father open my eyes to the rainbows of color that surround individuals you have created. Show me how to love and accept before categorizing and putting them their “too” files labeled too rude, too ugly, too snotty, too introverted, too loud, too self righteous, too different, too narcissistic, too weak or the the least favorable circular file “lost cause.”

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