I think it has to be one of my gifts that people will just open up to me and pour their story into the space between us. An hour later they say, "Wow, I guess I needed to say that." Or, "I didn't mean to talk your ear off!!" Or "Thanks for listening." I nod, usually grateful that they trusted me enough to share their story in the first place. Grateful that I could be the person to hold their story for that hour.
I say this not to boast, for in truth, sometimes I get really frustrated. I'm trying to walk out the door, people!! Or to the girl giving me a pedicure two summers ago before my friend's wedding who told me about her best friend's death when I asked about her tattoo, I'll admit that I wanted the short story. The simple story. The story that wouldn't engage my heart. The story that would allow me to sit back in the chair that massaged my neck and just get some pretty polish on my toes and relax.
Storytelling happens often when I least expect it or desire it. When I go in to check on a resident and share a simple hello and end up talking to the grieving daughter for thirty minutes. After a prayer, she has tears in her eyes, unaware of how much she simply needed to share her grief.
It's an amazing gift God's given me. I'm just wishing I also had the gift of patience to endure the gift of story holding. Perhaps it is just out of practice and is buried in me somewhere?
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