My Take
DiVoran Lites
Jesus always told stories when he spoke to his followers.
I’m into stories, have been since I was born. My mother told true stories and made up some. Grandmother told stories about her life, too. Before he went away to war and later when he grew old, Dad told stories about his. His stories stopped during my childhood because he suffered from what is now called PTSD.
I married a man who tells stories about his adventures every day, our grown children tell stories and so it goes. Stories and the need for them will never die. I thank God that I come from a story-telling family. I’m convinced there is no better way to learn the vital things of life.
It seems possible to imagine myself present as a child in a story about one of Jesus’ miracles. See if you can put yourself into it with me.
Father and Mother took me up on the mountain to listen to the master. He told us things about how to be happy. Wildflowers grew all over the mountain spreading their fragrance over the crowd like a blessing. I stood in the boat next to Jesus as he taught from there. I wanted to sing and dance with joy, but, alas, there was no room for that in the small boat.
When the teaching was over, the master asked the fishermen to take him across the lake. The sail filled with wind and we flew right along across the water next to a low-flying seagull. I looked around for the master and finally found him sleeping at the back of the boat. I was tired from all the excitement and the fresh air, so I lay down nearby. I thought about the wonderful day and looked at the white clouds in the blue sky. I too, fell asleep.
I awoke to rain in my face, black skies, and a bad feeling in my tummy. The fishermen were shouting and I saw that they were afraid. I’d never seen big rough men show fear before. Two wrestled to get the sail down while two others tried to bail out the water coming over the side in waves. One of the men came back and shook the master’s shoulder to wake him.
“Don’t you care that we’re all going to die!” he shouted.
By now I was hanging onto the anchor so I wouldn’t be washed out of the boat and into the sea.
The master rose and made his way to the bow. He held his hand up commanding, “Stop. Be quiet. Peace! Be still.” His voice carried through the storm. We all heard it. Suddenly the sea was calm. The sun came out. The bailers finished bailing. The sail went up again. Soon the work was done and we were on our way.
“Why were you so afraid? Don’t you have any faith?” said the master.
“Who is this man that wind and sea are at his command?” said one of the men.
I almost raised my hand to answer, but then thought the men might not like a child telling them something they didn’t already know. Someday, perhaps I will tell the story of this day so others may hear and know him too.
Mark 4
If you want to see the ancient fishing boats, Google Bible fishing boats. The pictures are beautiful.
You might enjoy this book: The Power of Personal Storytelling
Recently, I turned my life over to God in a way I’d never done before. Since I became a Christian in 1969 I have needed to “minister.” I would beg God to help me want to “make cold calls,” as the salesmen call them, but it never did feel natural. Oh, I visited homes of my Sunday School class and made calls, and I began to counsel over the phone so much I thought that was all my life was good for. I had anxiety attacks and cringed when I heard the phone ring because sometimes the caller would keep me for three hours, or more, telling me her problems. I could name names, but of course I won’t. Here are only a couple of examples: an older woman that I discovered later was a heavy drinker who loved to talk about her problems, but who never sought a solution of any kind, as far as I know. Another was a young mother whose husband used her for a punching bag. Nothing ever got solved there either, but being on the phone was my life after laundry, cooking, and dishes, so I persevered.
“See how they fixed me up at the hospital.” He lifts his dirty, ragged shirt and shows me a long, clean bandage across his chest. “I have these other scars, too.” And he shows them to me. “Those doctors and nurses saved my life,” he says. He walks away with a smile on his face. He was already experiencing a great Christmas and his gratitude was deep and real. Yes!
Old Things R New 