Almost intuitively, we understand the power of stories.
We know the ones that stay with us, that though they be “full of darkness and danger” like Samwise said, mean something bigger than the story itself, then the players themselves.
Stories change our ways of seeing and thinking. Of living and interpreting the world.
And our own stories are by far the most precious. These are ones that are carefully kept alive, nurtured and visited in quiet mental gardens, stories of our own lives and those of friends who have inextricably intertwined their lives into our own narrative.
We offer the lives and stories of our overseas friends in weaving this narrative. These men and women are not caricatures, nor are they cartoons, but rather our best approximation of a dear friend, a composite of many friends, or a representation of our own self without the transformative impact of He Who Has Found Us.
This offering is an act of sacrifice. We are inviting others into the stories - of all kinds - that have had their part in shaping us.
We share these lives and these stories we have treasured up and protected, and instead of hiding these talents in the ground like the last servant in the story, we offer up what has been given to us on behalf of the Master, believing that faithfulness really is better than self-preservation.
This sacrifice and invitation is also an act of trust. We choose to tell these stories, to represent these men and women, for a reason. We are bringing the deep, dear parts of our own lives - or theirs - and offer them in a heartfelt belief that these are worthy stories to tell.
These are worthy people to know.
The thing about stories though is that they are not always immediately understood for what they are. It’s a disheartening thing to offer something dear only to find it rejected, mistreated, or overlooked. It’s even more devastating when the offering is that of a life.
But do not lose heart when this happens.
They don’t yet know what they’ve done in mistreating the story you’ve offered them. They don’t know the friend you are trying to share, the story of the life that has broken your own heart.
In the hurt, remember to our Father, the friend you represent. Thank Him for his work in the world and in the lives of those who are dear to us, ask that he would save the perishing.
And for these students, ask the Father that he would light sparks in their hearts.
Let the retelling of these stories rekindle your own heart for these men and women, our dear friends, and ourselves.
And then fan it into flame
that we - and these new friends - would remember that the time is short, and the time is now.
In lending our hands to this work, we have the privilege of helping love these young men and women “into being,” as Mr. Rogers put it.
They are not yet who they will be,
And neither are we.
And so we work, offering them the opportunity to grow together, to practice, to succeed and to fail.
Because we know the eternity-shaking power of a truly Good Story.
