My father is a pretty talkative guy. A chatty Cathy, if you will (or maybe ‘talkative Tom’ would be more appropriate). I don’t blame him for it– it’s one of the many attributes that he passed along to me as his son. Trust me, my church members LOVE having a chatty pastor. Ever the verbal processor, my beloved dad will share quirky anecdotes from everyday life, adventures from his 24 years in the United States Air Force, and anything in between.
But one thing stands out when I remember my dad’s stories as a child: nothing made his eyes light up more than telling stories about home. Tales of Lake Charles, Louisiana, the swampy Mecca of the Simon family. Where everything began. He would tell me stories with so much detail, I feel as if I could draw a nearly accurate floor plan of the house he grew up in, with added details for where he and his siblings slept. I remember stories of his dear dog Bullet (may he continue to rest in his decades-long slumber), the bitter neighborhood rivalries between families, the summertime antics of him and his childhood friends.
At a certain point, my father’s stories started to captivate me even more. It wasn’t just the love that he was sharing with me, using his unspun yarns as a conduit. It was that I saw a rich heritage in them. These were the various puzzle pieces that formed the world that he was shaped by. This was the narrative that shaped the man that shaped me. Eventually it hit me with a sudden flash of realization that these weren’t just his stories, they were mine too. By sharing his story with me, he was sharing a lineage that had led his life to mine, and will one day (Lord willing) continue on to my own children.
The power of storytelling is truly unbelievable. The God of Israel clearly knew this to be true– it’s why he insisted that His people keep a clear recollection of their history. Not just to reflect on where they’ve been, but to remember the faithful hand that kept them steady. In each of us is a powerful story, shaped by the stories of those who have walked before us. Just as they were shaped by the stories of those who had walked before them. It’s this constant unfurling thread of life– full of childhood shenanigans, teenage heartbreak, lost loved ones, and powerful moments. They’re the stories that God doesn’t want us to lose.
When we consider a ministry such as Generation Spark, we aren’t solely focused on getting older generations to connect with their younger peers. We are praying for an exchange of these stories that reflect the rich heritage of God. We are praying that older generations would feel the same gleam of pride that my dad feels when he reminds me of backyard football and weekends in Roanoke. Our longing is not just in stories. It’s that the church would get a clearer view of its place as a family, gathered at the table of Christ.
