Shame is about fear, blame, and disconnection. Story is about worthiness and embracing the imperfections that bring us courage, compassion, and connection. If we want to live fully, without the constant fear of not being enough, we have to own our story. We also have to respond to shame in a way that doesn’t exacerbate our shame. One way to do that is to recognize when we’re in shame so we can react with intention.
— Brene Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection, p. 46
I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.
You may have heard of me.
— Kvothe, in The Name of the Wind, by Patrick Rothfuss
I believe in stories. The world has enough dogma. It’s stories we need more of, stories that reverence the still, small voice that sings our life. As Anthony de Mello observed, “The shortest distance between a human being and Truth is a story.” Jesus, himself, told stories about the most common things in the world: a lost sheep, a seed that falls on rocky ground, a woman who sweeps her house in search of a coin, a man whose son runs away from home.
All personal theology should begin with the words: Let me tell you a story.
— Sue Monk Kidd, Firstlight, p. 34-35
The inner tale transforms by reorienting us to new truth and insight, breaking open the hidden holy that dwells in our experience. The word story actually means “to know.” In the act of creating story there is always an event of coming to know. God surprises us with glimpses and truths we did not grasp until we tried to tell the story. As we shape the experience, an “aha!” emerges, a revelation.
— Sue Monk Kidd, Firstlight, p. 19
I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no-one any story but his own.
— Aslan, in The Horse and His Boy, by C. S. Lewis
We who make stories know that we tell lies for a living. But they are good lies that say true things, and we owe it to our readers to build them as best we can. Because somewhere out there is someone who needs that story. Someone who will grow up with a different landscape, who without that story will be a different person. And who with that story may have hope, or wisdom, or kindness, or comfort.
And that is why we write.
–Neil Gaiman, Newbery Acceptance Speech, Horn Book Magazine, July/August 2009, Volume LXXXV Number 4, p. 350
Creative expression is contagious and loves company.
— SARK, Juicy Pens and Thirsty Paper, p. 128
Our stories have power. Let this power be at the heart of your writing practice, and let your writings awaken and strengthen you in return.
Let all these stories inspire you to spend your time more richly, and let that richness spill onto your pages.
Let your stories of change and stumblings illuminate the path for those hiking behind you. Writing lights a bright beam for all to see, and that light leads to more souls sharing their experiences.
Let me give you a big “juicy pen” and some “thirsty paper” to drink up your words and stories.
— Juicy Pens, Thirsty Paper, by SARK, p. 119-120
All stories are full of bias and uniqueness; they mix fact with meaning. This is the root of their power. Stories allow us to see something familiar through new eyes. We become in that moment a guest in someone else’s life, and together with them sit at the feet of their teacher. The meaning we may draw from someone’s story may be different from the meaning they themselves have drawn. No matter. Facts bring us to knowledge, but stories lead to wisdom.
— Rachel Naomi Remen, MD, Kitchen Table Wisdom, p. xl
Resting in Jesus is not applying a spiritual formula to ourselves as a kind of fix-it. It is the essence of repentance. It is letting our heart tell us where we are in our own story so that Jesus can minister to us out of the Story of his love for us. When, in a given moment, we lay down our false self and the smaller story of whatever performance has sustained us, when we give up everything else but him, we experience the freedom of knowing that he simply loves us where we are. We begin just to be, having our identity anchored in him. We begin to experience our spiritual life as the “easy yoke and light burden” Jesus tells us is his experience.
— Brent Curtis & John Eldredge, The Sacred Romance, p. 174-175