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How to Overcome 5 Common Fears of Sharing Your Story

How to Overcome 5 Common Fears of Sharing Your Story

First Fears of Story Sharing

Over twenty years ago, I held my first story feast. One day, at the end of the moms’ group I led, I passed out a one-page handout with some prompts, reflection questions, and a quick guide for writing a redemption story. I enthusiastically explained that in two weeks we would gather over rich fare to share the amazing stories of our lives.

My beloved moms responded with a collective face-fall. I was shocked—it had never occurred to me that my enthusiasm for sharing stories would not be met with equal excitement by our little band of mothers. And yet, they looked like they had been tossed back to a tenth grade English class and assigned a pop essay which they knew would soon be scarred with red pen.

Here’s the thing. For most of my life, I have processed my thoughts and feelings by writing things down. I learned as a young child that my journal was a (fairly) safe place to record the stories of my life. At fifteen, as a new Christian, I learned that scribbling out Bible verses and prayers helped me to memorize Scripture and pay attention to what I was praying. Over the years, I also learned that journaling helped me to see the contours of the story God was writing—in my life, in the world, in Scripture.

My First Story Feasts

Not only did I learn to write down my stories as a young Christian, I also discovered the benefit of sharing stories in community. At Pioneer Plunge, a Young Life camp where I first attended as a camper and later worked as kitchen coordinator, there was no TV. In fact, we were completely unplugged. We worked hard clearing trees to build new structures on the campsite, so we were hungry and tired at mealtimes. We sat for over an hour around homemade bread and homegrown tomatoes, resting and recharging, talking about the day. One feature of every mealtime was the “life story.” Over the two-week session, huddled around the handmade picnic tables, each camper would have the spotlight, the opportunity to tell about his or her life.Are you eager to learn and grow in sharing your story? Or, do your palms begin to sweat when I even bring up the topic? Learn to share your story! Click To Tweet

I’m not sure why I wasn’t afraid to jump right in when it was my turn. I always began my story with what seemed as a teenager like the beginning of my life as I knew it, “My parents were divorced when I was seven.”

Some days, we went around the table to answer questions like, “If you could have three living people to dinner, who would you have?” or “If you could be anything for a day, what would you be?” (This was way before “Would You Rather” games and instagram emoji stories!). The stories flowed and brought humor, insight, and hope, tightening the bonds of our little camping community.

That’s my story of stories, of how and why writing and sharing stories became a crucial part of my growth in understanding God and others. Since that first story feast with my moms twenty years ago, I’ve realized that not everyone feels so excited about sharing stories in community. What about you? Are you eager to learn and grow in sharing your story? Or, do your palms begin to sweat when I even bring up the topic? Over the years, I’ve discovered five main objections to writing and sharing stories. Today I’ll share the first two, and next week, the last three. Do you find yourself in any of these?

5 Reasons You Might Not Write and/or Share Your Stories (and How to Overcome Your Fears)

  1. I can’t write.

Sofia couldn’t write either. As a Bosnian-born woman who had very little schooling, her letters were poorly formed, and her language was heavy and broken. But guess what? When she began in broken English to recount her story of summers in Yugoslavia before Bosnia became independent, no one cared how good her grammar was. People were fascinated to hear her story, to know how God had brought her out of the terrible atrocities committed in Bosnia and gave her glimpses of redemption in the beauty of summer sunrises over the Mediterranean sea.

The fact is, when you tell a story that gives people more insight to who you are, how God made you, and what matters to you, how well you write or speak does not matter at all.

  1. I’m afraid to speak in public.

When Keisha, at twenty, the youngest attendee of a long-ago Story Feast, began telling of her years-long dream of vacationing at Disneyworld, you could see beads of sweat gathering on her face. Her voice quivered as she spoke. We strained to hear what she was saying. But after the first two minutes, when she saw the eager faces of older women leaning in to hear her story, she relaxed. The women cheered with joy as she reached the climax of her story—the day her parents surprised her by pretending to drive her to school but taking her instead to Disneyworld.

Given that speaking publicly is the number one fear in the world, surpassing death itself, it’s understandable to feel a little frightened about sharing your story. All the more reason to practice sharing stories with small groups of friends and acquaintances—as you look at the faces of those you fellowship with, you will remember that you’re not giving a Ted Talk for millions of viewers.

Subscribe to receive Part Two of this post in your inbox, three more reasons people don’t share their stories. 

Photo by Reuben Juarez on Unsplash

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Redemption Stories and Sister-Friends

Redemption Stories and Sister-Friends

What’s your redemption story?

This month, we’ve been focusing on stories, writing, sharing, living, and reading them. One of my favorite summer stories is one of redemption, pretty birds and bird poop, and authentic sisterhood.

The story I remembered involves three moms I have shared stories with for over 20 years. We have walked together through both pretty bird and poopy bird stories and seen God’s redemption story working through them all. I pray this simple story compels you to share your stories in community as a radical reminder of God’s wild and glorious ways.

My Redemption Story Part 1: Pretty Birds

Early on a humid Saturday morning, I was enjoying a vigorous workout walk on the beach with these three dear sister-friends.

Conversation meandered from the mundane,

“I wonder if it will rain later,”

to the musing and a-musing:

“How did we go from discussing diapers to dating without any signs of personal aging:)…?”

Sister-friend one spotted a flock of birds in formation and practically clapped her hands in delight at God’s creation, “Look how pretty the birds are!”

My Redemption Story, Part 2: Bird Poop

And I said….
I said…
Yes, well, I’m ashamed to say, I said…

“Until they poop on you.”

Yes, that’s what I said.  I don’t know what came over me.  Well, I sort of do.

One kind sister-friend burst into laughter and remonstrated gently, “ELIZABETH!!”

With her response, I too wondered at myself.  Why would I rain so liberally on my first sister-friend’s delight?  What was with me?

Redemption Story Part 3: Seeking Truth in Community

Though it was sort of a silly moment, I could not shake it from my mind.  God had been tugging at me lots about my cynicism and negativity.  I felt alternately sad and shocked at my remark.  The memory of the moment followed me for the rest of the day.

Later that night, I was talking with one of these stalwart sister-friends who had the grace to be shocked at my cynicism. We were discussing our fierce desire to put our toxic-tongue-disease behind us.

I said, “It’s like the comment I made this morning.  It seems like God is frequently revealing this tendency toward negativity.”

She explained, “What struck me about it is that you are NOT a negative person.  I don’t think of you as cynical.  It just seemed so out of character.”

With Spirit-prodding words, the Father urges me, “Live in and out of your redemption, my dear daughter. Click To Tweet

And together we wondered about it.  She’s right.  My nature is to be an encourager.  But I do have a long streak of cynicism and a sin-natural bent toward criticism in me.

God is knocking on my door, saying, “Enough.”  With frequency, the Holy Spirit sneaks up on me and shines the light on my sin and shouts, “That’s not who you really are!”

I am grateful.  Grateful for the Holy Spirit who grabs my heart when I envision ugliness like bird poop dropping on a happy day. Grateful for friends who say, “But that’s not who you are…”

And most grateful for an odd God who sometimes in fact does allow bird-poop to drop on a sweet girl enjoying a sunny day in the park.

One good redemption story leads to another…

For indeed, part of what I was thinking about when I made my poopy comment was of something that had happened recently to my daughter.

She was in London for a Serge internship. Enjoying a sunny day sitting under a tree, she was sadly surprised when a bird rained on her parade. Somehow, my delightful daughter found a way to laugh at the insanity of it all! In fact, it led to an opportunity to share the gospel! But that’s another story – and it’s hers to tell!

Photo Credit: Frank McKenna, Unsplash

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You Won’t Believe What Happened on this Airplane: A Story of Law & Grace

For years, the Sarah Sisterhood (gospel-centered community for women), has taken time out of our regular study to celebrate a story feast.

Since we are studying Tullian Tchividjian’s book One-Way Love, last week’s focused on theme of law and grace.

I was reminded of this terrible, bizarre experience with law and grace I had on an airplane back in 2004.

I didn’t use to tremble when I walked into an airport for a flight. There was a time when flying was filled with a sense of excitement, even importance. I was special; I was going somewhere.

The trembling probably began during the years I commuted from Pensacola to Seattle in pursuit of a graduate degree. The first course I took started the day before 9-11 happened. Ten days later, I flew back to Pensacola on an almost empty plane.

On one of these excursions, in 2004, I had made it through the long red-eye from Seattle to Atlanta and was now firmly planted in my seat for the short shot back to Pensacola. The flight attendant was doing her thing, making sure seat belts were fastened and electronic devices were shut off (yes, back in those days).

I turned off my device. The thing was, this baby in front of me.

Now I’m a mom of four who never had the courage to travel with mine when they were babies, so I’m not hating on crying babies on the airplane. However, I feel completely justified in not wanting to hear them cry, especially when they’re loud and insistent and they’re in the seat in front of me facing my way.

So I left my headphones in my ears. When the flight attendant told me to remove them, I held up my device to show it was turned off and the headphones weren’t plugged in…

Well, that’s when it got bizarre. In a stern voice, anger barely controlled, she lectured me about how I needed to comply with the rules of the plane. Before I could apologize (I had now taken the plugs out), she quickly turned away. Moments later, she reappeared with what I call a “yellow card” and explained that I was being put on a some-kinda-list because blah-blah-blah.

I still can’t remember what she or the card said exactly, because frankly my mind was numbed by fears and my eyes blurred with tears at this point. After delivering the punishment, she turned away again, and the passengers around me looked at me, some with sympathetic looks, like, “What was that all about?” and others with accusing looks, like, “You must be a dangerous person.”

So, thankfully, I guess, that wasn’t the end of the story.

Just after the captain announced our immanent descent into Pensacola, the flight attendant returned. She offered me a huge smile, and motioned for me to get up and follow her. I wondered for a moment if it was a trick, since the captain had just told us to fasten our seat belts, but I figured I’d better obey her, so I followed her down the aisle, intensely aware of being watched, my cheeks burning with shame.

We arrived at the attendant’s station, and she showed me a white clear view notebook, opened to a form filled with writing. Again, what I remember was that all the pages had sheet protectors, not what the words she pointed to actually said.

She spoke in the voice you use to tell a pre-schooler, “Now, you messed up, but this time, I’m going to let you off the hook.” And she proceeded to tell me basically that and to warn me never to disobey again and she would tear up this sheet that I think informed other people that I was an aviation threat.

I nodded and promised and conveyed that I understood what a bad passenger I’d been. She took the page out of the sheet protector and tore it up. Then — and this is still the part that is the most bizarre to me — she gave me a big hug and told me I could return to my seat.

I fought the law and the law won. But my judge, for reasons I cannot discern, decided to show me mercy. I guess. But it didn’t feel like mercy. It felt like at any moment, she could change her mind and put me on another list.

What I realized as I shared this story with my group is that God’s law, mercy, and grace is perfect. It is not arbitrary, based on how he feels that day — or moment. His law and his grace is rooted in his own eternal, holy, consistently loving character. Yes, it it is rather bizarre that a holy God would send a holy Son to die for my sins (including my defiant, self-justifying attitude on that plane). And yet it makes sense because of who God is — a God who loves and pursues us in our worst and redeemed us because of that love.

Now it’s your turn — think of a story about law, grace, or airplanes (these are usually good ones!) and share it — in the comments — and/or with friends.

Here are a few questions to get you thinking:

1. Tell of a time when someone showed you mercy and grace — surprised you with a loving response you knew you did not deserve.

2. Tell of an “encounter with the law” — a person who demanded only the best or held the law over you. How did you respond to the demands? What did this experience teach you about law and grace?

Chocolate Cream Pie: Foods to Feast By

Story Feasts are an essential part of each Living Story Bible study, so it makes sense to share some favorite “Foods to Feast By” on this blog (but don’t expect me to go all “food blogger” on you — as you will see by the amateur iphone photos:-). If you have a feasting food you’d like to share, please let me know in the comment section, and your recipe may be featured here.

Here is the story and the recipe of our version of “Mick’s” Chocolate Pie, the best chocolate cream pie ever.

It was the day after 33 hours of travail, a ludicrously long pitocin induction that brought our first child into the world — they did stuff like that in the late 80’s….and I was starved. My meal of choice?

A guacamole burger and a slice of chocolate cream pie from Mick’s, a favorite Atlanta restaurant.

Mick’s version was no stiff, plasticine cafeteria chocolate cream pie. This heavy pie held a deep double chocolate custard firmly set in a chocolate wafer and butter crust, slathered with fresh whipping cream and topped with chocolate shavings. (Sorry for the repetition of chocolate in that sentence, but chocolate is never redundant!)

You can bet my husband delivered this calorie-packed reward to me bedside! I have an old picture, but the pie is out of focus because my husband was actually focusing on my fluid-filled face, which I’m not humble enough to reveal here:-)!

If Mick’s Chocolate Cream Pie was the food I wanted to feast by the day after our first child was born, you can imagine how thrilled I was when its recipe appeared in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. According to urban myth, a disgruntled former employee stole the recipe and sold it to the paper.

Whether that story is true or not, I couldn’t wait to make my own Mick’s pie for a feast. One Friday afternoon, I hurried home after a full day of teaching, excited to prepare this famed recipe for my friends. I had already purchased the supplies, so I launched into prep, following the instructions precisely.

As you will see, it’s not an easy process, but the rich taste is well worth the labor! An hour later, I had finished: chocolate pie crust — check; chocolate filling — check; whipping cream ready to be whipped — check; chocolate shavings ready to top whipping cream — check….

Only then did I notice one essential instruction that should have been at the beginning (in my version it is:-) — you know the part where it tells you the baking time or chilling time? Oops. 24 hours. About 3 hours later, it was time to serve the — chocolate soup. Every single person lapped it up, and a few wanted seconds.

Technically, this is not a chocolate cream pie -- it's a chocolate ice cream pie made for a birthday, and usually the entire pie is covered with whipping cream and the smiley face is chocolate, but they look similar...

Technically, this is not a chocolate cream pie — it’s a chocolate ice cream pie made for a birthday, and usually the entire pie is covered with whipping cream and the smiley face is chocolate, but they look similar…

Future versions were chilled 14-24 hours, and the Turnage’s Mick’s chocolate pie became a family feasting favorite. Eventually my girls took up the pie mantle and added their signature smily face drawn with a finger traced through the whipping cream. One of my daughters even decided it would be her feasting food for Thanksgiving because she doesn’t like apple pie (which my older daughter makes). (Did I mention that from the time they were about 10, every child had an assigned dish to make (with some help:-) for Thanksgiving? I’m just not one of those big-hearted women who likes to spend the whole day in the kitchen by herself while everyone else has fun!).

I dare you to try it. Make it for a mom for Mother’s Day — or, if you’re a mom, see if you can get your kids to make it for you! (Not recommended if you have children under 10!)

Oh, and CHILL AT LEAST 14 HOURS — 24 IS BEST!

Turnage’s Mick’s Chocolate Cream Pie

Ingredients:

Filling

1 1/4 C. sugar                    4 C. whole milk

7/8 C. flour                        4 egg yolks

1/8 t. salt                           1 1/4 C. choc. chips, melted

1/2 C. cocoa                      1/2 t. vanilla

1/4 C. butter

Crust: 

1 1/2 C. crumbled choc. wafers (Best are Nabisco ice cream wafers in sundae section of grocery — our grocery only carries them certain times of year, so we stock up when they have them.)

2 T. conf. sugar (or regular)

4-5 T. melted butter

Topping:

heavy whipping cream: 4 oz.

candy bar for chocolate shavings: I sometimes use Ghirardelli squares.

Make the pie crust first so it can start chilling:

  • Stir sugar and butter into crumbs until well-blended.
  • Pat into 10-inch pie pan.  Refrigerate before filling.

The pie:

  • In an 8-quart cooking pot, mix sugar, flour, salt, and cocoa. If you’re really ambitious, sift them first. Slowly add milk and stir well.  Cook over medium-low heat until scalded (film begins to form on bottom), always stirring.
  • Separate eggs. You want the yolks. Beat yolks.  Slowly stir in 1 cup of hot milk mixture.  Add this back to the rest of the mixture in pan and continue stirring and cooking over low heat. (If you’re really ambitious, use the whites in another, healthier recipe:-).
  • Melt chocolate chips (I put them in a glass measuring cup in the microwave on medium heat, stirring after 30 second intervals, but you could also do the glass bowl over small cooking pan filled with water method — if you don’t know what I’m talking about, google it).
  • Add melted chocolate chips to pan mixture; continue stirring and cooking on low heat until thickened.
  • Remove from heat.
  • Add vanilla and butter; stir. (Sometimes I forget this part, so I’m bolding it).
  • Pull that chocolate wafer crust out of the frig, and refrigerate 12-24 hours.
  • Before serving, place whipped cream on top and garnish with chocolate shavings.

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