If you don’t think that your life reads like a story, guess again! We have a tendency to think that our lives are linear because that’s the way that we live; Tuesday always follows Monday, just as June follows May. If you take a step back, you will notice that your story may intersect with someone who was instrumental during those defining moments, even if the occurrences are months, years or even decades apart. If it were possible to strip off the unintentional boundaries we place on our story, how do you think it would read like?

An Old Friend

About a generation ago, someone entered my life who thought differently and saw the world differently than anyone I had ever met before. He was looking for part-time work so he could finish college. I was looking for an employee. He, along with his wife and young children, moved to West side of Michigan from the East side; a distance of only 120-miles but decades in terms of cultural nuances.

I grew up in a bubble, one defined by its Dutch heritage and theological ties to a particular Protestant denomination and the expectation that I would strive for inclusion in one of its many cliques. The rules were many, the rationale behind most were ambiguous, and at the time my willingness to fall lock-step into its rigid life-style was non-existent. It toed the line so I would not embarrass my parents, however, blinded by arrogance, I did so anyway. Growing up, the bubble was all I knew and I was not alone.

Our families were close and I decided to hire him not because he was like me but because he was nothing like me. He was an academic with the heart of a teacher enrolled in a rigid Master’s of Theology program at a nearby Seminary. I had a past that bordered on drinking excessively, working tirelessly, and barely making it through high school, which I did in spite of two “D’s” in Art and Phys. Ed., respectively.

It was he that planted the seed that education was a worthy investment of my time and treasure. The months he worked for me turned into years, and during those years our lives, and those of our families, became even more intertwined. Soon he graduated, and in a matter of a few months, he and his family moved away.

It was after he and his family moved away I realized there was something missing, even though I wasn’t sure what it was. It took me a few years, but ironically, I found myself enrolled in an accredited Bachelor’s of Business Administration program. In my mid-thirties, married with two small girls, I was officially a college student. He had left his mark.

A Blast from the Past

We lost touch during the next few decades, having spoken to each other only a few times in a span of twenty years. I learned through FaceBook of all things, that he moved back to the East side of the state. Coincidently, I often find myself on the East side. I made the bold move to try to reconnect. He agreed and we decided to meet for lunch.

I didn’t know what to expect since we hadn’t spoken in at least 15 years. That all changed when a familiar face approached my table. His greeting was sincere, “It’s great to see you.” He sat down, and without effort, we picked up where we left off. It was as if time stopped and now restarted.

The elephant didn’t arrive for some time, but it did; it always does. It was he that brought up the subject. I choked down my emotions and told him that it’s true. In the blink of an eye, we jumped forward 20-years, but for those brief moments, I was able to forget my recent past and was given the freedom to relive my distant past.

When we said our goodbyes, he mentioned that I was one of the few in his life with whom he could have a normal conversation. Standing before me, an intellectual grasshopper, was someone I considered a giant, the Master, who valued my friendship. Who would have thought that I, too, left my mark?

It’s Your Story

There is fluidity in this narrative when you tell it like a story. In about 900 words, I was able to span thirty plus years with sufficient detail that you and I could make a connection. If I were a gambling person, I would wager that most, if not all, of you were able to recall a similar friendship with someone in your life. If so, my story is now connected to yours.

The story of our lives is not a secret to hold…it’s a story to be told. Why does it matter?

Stay tuned!

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Ivy, not every story will come with pictures. Sometimes you need to use your imagination.

Al and his faithful, but pictorially enable sidekick, Ivy the wonder pup

You imagine that my friend looks like the guy on your favorite TV show with spooky eyes, who lives in a monastery and teaches young boys Marshall Arts? You’re good.