Story & The Storyteller

There’s a line or two in the song “Stories” that catches my breath every time I sing it. And. Since I didn’t write this one, I figure I can gush a little. “Tell me your story. I’ll tell you mine. We’ll sing ‘em like a song about how love just wasn’t right.” That line right there. “Love just wasn’t right.” Every - single - time - I sing those words, I’m moved. Moved by how really they tell the story of everything that ever went wrong here, across all of time, in all the relationships we walk on this earth. Reminds me, too, of Irving Berlin’s (and Rosemary Clooney’s) similar, smoldering accusation - “Love, you didn’t do right by me.” And we find ourselves left sitting in the certain sting that somehow, somewhere along the way, love went wrong. The shattering of betrayal, the insidiousness of suspicion and secrets, a death or sudden unexplained loss of relationship. The overbearing parent. The unfaithful (or cold) spouse. Drug abuse, violence, sexual trauma, passivity. (Yes, passivity…) Or when shalom is suddenly shattered by purposed wounding so violent and breathtaking we didn’t even think it possible of another human. I sat with a young gal the other day with just such a story. Man… heaviness. Makes me feel a bit like howling at the moon, that one line bearing the weight of loss any of us have suffered walking this life together. 

But that’s the potency of a well-written line. Or a really good song. Or story. It gets under your skin. Your OWN skin. And you can’t help but RESPOND in some way. And that changes you, that response. It moves pieces inside of you. Even though the words surfaced out of a whole different person’s soul and have often traveled miles or even years to get to you, from first creative spark to your listening ear. If the writer digs deep enough into his own hurts and history then chooses to take the risk and “open a vein” on the page, as one of my favorite authors, Frederick Buechner says, you get a story that feels so true it functions almost like a mirror. The image in the mirror (or the song or story) certainly isn’t the same person as you or your life likeness or experience. But there’s enough echo of similarity that it causes you to pause at first. You lean in, curious about the reflection… (Is it me? Is it you?) You peer deeper into the room where the storyteller is standing. A chair. A table. A cup overturned, books fallen on the floor… Then something in shadow or shimmer catches your attention and starts to resonate - some ache or angle, a familiar brokenness or glimmer of hope or beauty. And something inside you feels met and known, reflected true by this writer you’ll likely never even meet. Usually for me it’s a single line that does it, that draws me into the mirror, a word or two even. One of Buechner’s books did that very thing for me once - the title alone - before I ever read the book: “Telling Secrets.” (You mean we can do that?) Resonance. Meaning. And pieces inside me are moved.

So we poke a little more at the reflection, listen more intently, and begin to weave a cord out of the story threads in the song that mirror hurts and hopes of our own. “I am not alone.” Which in the end, really, is one hope I have for the songs in this album being birthed right now. That as you listen and hopefully begin to find some resonance of your own story in them that maybe we could tell them together, whether here online in bits or in real life community if we have the pleasure of being living, breathing humans together, you and I. Better yet, that you’d take what moves or provokes you as you listen and pull up a chair with a familiar, trusted face from your own everyday and maybe consider cracking open the door just a little wider in intentional, vulnerable space together, talking through what arose in you that might need care or tending. Maybe even across a table with a bit of bread and meat and wine. Even better, I say. Story and music, like food, are best given and received in community. Looking forward to what we uncover together in the weeks and months ahead. Thanks for coming to table with me. 

AB

STORIES

by Bradford Loomis

(c) 2016 Lineage Artistry Publishing

So you heard about Jesus on the radio

You were humming along like it was a song that you’ve always known

And I can never get past my circumstance

I'm a recidivist with a desperate wish for one last chance

If I could hear you breathing just this once, If I could hear you breathing just this once

Tell me your story, and I'll tell you mine

We'll sing them like a song about how love just wasn't right

I've been waiting on my heart like it's hard to find

I'm tired of giving up one breath at a time

I know it's hard, for someone to change

The promise we made is like a crowded parade and I can't escape

And I've never known what it meant

Nothing to give, but this moment to live , maybe that's well spent

If I could hear you breathing just this once, If I could hear you breathing just this once

I swear I won't stop now, I'll push on through when I don't know how

I'll bury the old me in the ground

I'm never giving up, I won't quit now I've not had enough

I'll drink it down, this bitter cup

So tell me your story, and I'll tell you mine

We'll sing them like a song about how love just wasn't right

I've been waiting on my heart like it's hard to find

I'm tired of giving up one breath at a time

I'm so tired of giving up one breath at a time