Unable to re-tell the events of the story she’s just read.
Beginning, middle, and end mean very little to my precious little seven-year-old, at least that is what her teacher told me in a conference this afternoon (a teacher whom, by the way, I happen to adore!). I trust her “heads-up” regarding my daughter’s re-telling issue and will do whatever is necessary to make sure she gets some practice in this area. After all, what’s the point of a story if it cannot be remembered—can’t be retold so that others might enjoy its merits?
It’s been nearly forty-four years since I first heard God’s story from my parents’ lips. And while you might think that I ought to remember it by now, there are times when a refresher is needed… times when I need to sit beneath my Father’s influence to hear him read it to me again. To tell me about the beginning, the middle, and the end so that I won’t forget its truth and so that I will better be able to share its witness with others.
How thankful I am for a Teacher who doesn’t grade me according to my ability to remember but who, rather, extends his grace along these lines. Rare are the times when I recall with perfect clarity all that he has mentioned to me over the years; in contrast, rare are the times when I forget to mention him. The longer I live with Jesus, the more prominent he becomes in my conversation. Where the details are sketchy, he comes alongside to fill in the gaps with his measure of understanding. Together, we re-tell a good story.
The best story.
The only story where the beginning, middle, and the end anchors in one, central thought… one truth… one Word.
Re-tell his story well this week. Live it all the more. As always…
peace for the journey,