When I was a young boy my parents would warn me not to lie. There would be consequences like canker sores and elongated noses as in Pinocchio. The truth would win out and I would be found out. They used a phrase to warn me, “Don’t tell stories!”
I wish I had heeded their oft-repeated advice. And although neither canker sores nor wooden noses eventuated, there were still plenty of consequences which were harmful in personal relationships. I regret every lie I told and retold; to this day I am sorry.
The use of “story” for “lie” fascinates me. I love a good story. Hollywood thrives because, it seems, everyone loves a good story. Forrest Gump told stories and Euripides told stories and Bill Bryson and Jeffrey Archer are master spinners-of-tales. But are they liars? I would not go so far.
Some of you might know I love to tell stories especially true stories that feature my kids or grandsons. Their boundless energy and joie-de-vive are worth every yarn I can spin. They give me great nachas, that Yiddish indescribable term for family pride.
Storytelling was a feature of the life of Yeshua as well. He knew how to capture and then to make a crowd shake its head. Substance and rhythm along with language which twists and turns— those make for good story.
Let me ask you— to whose stories do you listen? What makes you return for their next one? When will you stop giving them your ear?
Don’t story to me. Tell me the truth.
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