THANKFUL FRIDAY

Morning

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I finished reading Barbara Kingsolver’s latest book, Unsheltered: A Novel, this week. When I got to the last page and realized it was the last page, I got a little sad that the book was over. I wanted the story to go on and on and on. It is not often that I pick up a book these days and feel that way. Mostly, I am content that story has ended or at least that the author decided to just not tell any more of the story. I’m ready for the next book and I am notoriously stubborn. I will read every book to its bitter end even if I don’t care for the story. When those books finally end, I set the book down with a sigh of sweet relief. “Whew! Glad that’s over!” I think, even though I know I could have just stopped reading at any time. Chris used to sit through movies the same way. No matter how awful the movie, he’d never walk out. I do the same thing with books.

There are some authors, though, who just want to keep on telling the story forever.

Every time I sit down to write in the Fortune Cookie journal, my story has to end because I run out of writing room. The story doesn’t end in my head though. It is still tucked in there and rambles on and on as I make my way through grocery stores. That part just never makes it to paper. This is what I imagine happens with a writer like Barbara Kingsolver. She runs out of room and paper for all the words. This makes sense. Our own stories are not told in one setting. We break them up into sections with beginnings like ‘when I was little…’ or ‘once, during undergrad…’ and then we parcel them out in no particular order. As I watched Ken Burns latest documentary, Country Music, I noticed how often the ones being interviewed referred the the music as stories and how those stories have been passed down from generation to generation. We tell stories in so many different ways in hopes that what ever way we have chosen will resonate with some one else.

Our stories connect us. When I finished that book, I immediately thought of Margaret and how I hadn’t corresponded with her in a while. I wrote her a long email about how things were going, what we’ve been up to, and asking about what she and Philip have been up to. Stories, whether written or sung, inspire us to come together. This week, I am thankful for words strung together in such a beautiful way that I would want to read them again and again. I am thankful for stories that inspire. I am thankful for the connections. I am thankful for your story.