Everyone has a story.
Early Friday, I finished Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance, who described his own memoir as “somewhat absurd” since he had not done anything extraordinary: “I wrote this book because I’ve achieved something quite ordinary, which doesn’t happen to most kids who grow up like me.” I understand the distinction. That it topped the New York Times Bestseller List is a strong clue that it is an interesting story.
Same day, I had a conversation with a gentleman who lost his mother that week at the age of ninety-six. His sweet mother had been married for fifty-seven years before her husband passed away — thirteen years ago! His parents were founding members of our church, and we spoke of hosting a memorial service to celebrate his mother’s special story.
Same day, I attended an event that featured Navajo Grandmothers who have traveled from Arizona to Los Angeles to resist the destruction of their cultural and ancestral homeland. Guess what they were here to do? Tell their story.
And after all that, my wife and I showed up at an event for college students where we were asked to–you guessed it–share our stories. Well, we did our best. They are, after all, our stories, so no one knows them better, but it did feel a little pretentious on our end following a day filled with such compelling stories.
Everyone has a story. But some sure seem to grab the old heart more than others.
In Vance’s introduction to Hillbilly Elegy, he wrote: “The coolest thing I’ve done, at least on paper, is graduate from Yale Law School . . . [b]ut about two hundred people do the same thing every year, and trust me, you don’t want to read about most of their lives.” Ha!
All this simply got me to thinking: I’m pretty sure that our life’s goal should not be a best-selling autobiography, and given fickle human nature, competing for the coolest story is a rabbit hole not worth going down. But like it or not, we are creating a story out of the cards we were dealt, and given a choice, it might as well be one worth telling.
The Greek word eulogia means “good speaking” in English and is the source of our word “eulogy”—when we say good things about someone who has died. (For Bible nerds, eulogia is most often translated as “blessing.”) Well, last week, the law school hosted the sweetest farewell party for me due to the job switcheroo, and people said the kindest things. The very best part was that I didn’t have to die to hear them!
I’m hoping that preaching every Sunday is like riding a bicycle because it has been nine years since I broke the habit. We’ll find out soon. Come see for yourself if you are near Malibu starting this weekend (10:15am, Elkins Auditorium, Pepperdine University).
“Baseball, it is said, is only a game. True. And the Grand Canyon is only a hole in Arizona.” – George F. Will
George Washington’s 285th birthday is two days away, my how the time flies, but today marks the federal holiday in his honor. Close to half of these United States extends the holiday to all presidents, but I live in one of the many states that sticks with the federal designation of “Washington’s Birthday” in honor of the man known as the father of this country.
“Love cares more for others than for self.” – Paul (1st Corinthians 13, MSG)
I set my alarm for 5:30am most every morning, but when I did so on Tuesday in Charleston, South Carolina, it was actually 2:30am for the old California-tuned biological clock. But I got up anyway and met a new friend in the hotel lobby for an early morning run. We ran four miles through that beautiful city with its gas lamps, stately mansions, cobblestone streets, peaceful waterfront, and general gorgeous-ness before the sun really even thought about making an appearance. It was great—the run, the conversation, the city, the sights, and the weather.
