“I love to tell the story, ’twill be my theme in glory / to tell the old, old story of Jesus and His love.”
~ Katherine Hankey “I Love to Tell the Story” (1866)
Last night, on Christmas Eve, I sat as I usually do in the tiny church in my little swath of the Midwest at the late night candlelight service. I have done so now for years, getting done with the service around midnight so that the friends-turned-into-family-members that are there can be the first I greet with the magical words of “Merry Christmas.” And last night was no different. The other half and I sat in one of the pews, listening to the same stories from Scripture we have heard every single year and singing the same hymns we always sing, the familiar words committed to memory.
It’s an old story, but a familiar one.
But every year, there is something new in the tiny church. There are different parishioners, though some remain the same. There are different events and circumstances that lead those to come each year. There are aspects that make the story new again, even in the moments where there is the familiar.
For example, this year there is no peace in the place where that old story originated. Because of the Hamas-Israel conflict that rages on in Gaza, Christmas has been canceled in Bethlehem. There is no joy, only sorrow. There is no light, only darkness. But there is hope that love will win. There is hope that soon, perhaps, peace on earth and goodwill to all will be more than just a dream and a song lyric.
And yet, the story lives on. Not just the old story that started long ago in that tiny town of Bethlehem, but our stories as well. We each write our stories as we tell that old, old story of love and redemption, hope and joy, peace and light. And some of us tell the stories of our imaginations, weaving together realities with fantasies, creating tales of redemption and goodwill as we tell our own stories.
I love to tell stories. It’s the reason why my Portals Series is seventeen works long. I had stories to share, created from little voices inside my head begging me to write, each character wishing for their story to be told. There are tales of peace and love, light and hope, magic and joy even as they are merely fairy tales and flights of imagination. And this week, twelve of them (all of my novellas) are also free as e-books if you want to check them out.
But back to the tiny church in my little swath of the Midwest. Even as the story told at each evening Christmas Eve service is the same old story, there are aspects of it that become new, as there are wonders that unfold or things brought forth with new perspectives and woven with stories of other characters and locations and ideas. The moments change even as the story remains the same. Even as the same ceramic Nativity scene is used each year, there is something different about it when it is unpacked and placed. Parts have been broken and repaired. New characters enter the scene, like this year since two lions have mysteriously appeared. Characters are replaced because they are no longer serviceable. Eventually it will be retired and a new scene will take its place, telling the story of old while having a story all its own.
But that is our story. We are the broken pieces, the hot messes, the works in progress, the chapters cut short, the plot changes and twists. We are the characters who inexplicably disappear from the tale, the antagonists, the secondary roles in another narrative. We are those chronicles that are still unfolding, writing as we go along and being told as we can tell it.
I love to tell the story.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you.
Stay magical, friends.
Write your own story.
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And as always, #writeyourownstory
K. S. Wood Writes 