Storytelling

I’ve been thinking a lot about storytelling recently.

I’ve never been so keenly aware of living through history. You know, we are living things that will be put into textbooks, given as short answers on some poor grade 11’s socials final: What was your family’s go-to activity during the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020?

I wonder if this is something that my grandchildren will ask me questions about when I’m older. I remember doing something similar with my grandfather, a report on World War II when I was in high school. I wonder what I will tell my grandkids.

I think that I will tell them that my house seemed loud, that the sound of two kids squealing in delight while jumping off their fort built of couch cushions carried through our ancient lath and plaster walls particularly well, as did the distinct sound of my daughter’s screams when her brother bit her for absolutely no reason (well he said he was pretending to be a mean cat, so I guess that’s a reason).

I will tell them of the uncertainty that seemed to seep into my pores, cloud my mind, make me afraid to let my kids run around in our yard because I was terrified that they would get hurt and what would I do then?

I will also tell them about how we read stories as a family, that I could see my daughter’s joy and wonder as I started into a new Harry Potter book with her (and that I saw my husband listening at the door as he was discovering the stories for the first time too). I will tell them about the cuddles from my absolutely gigantic toddler, who intensely loved me and aggressively showed this love to me.

I will also tell them about strange peace, odd peace, illogical peace. That in the midst of all the chaos, the pain, the collective feeling of disorientation, there was peace. Not all the time, but it was there. It came when I saw beautiful sunsets through my kitchen window, when I saw the tree in my front yard begin to blossom, when I held my sleeping son and felt his steady heartbeat, when I sat at my dusty piano and played songs that reminded me that, even in the midst of everything, God is present and that he could be trusted.

Psalm 131

1 O Lord, my heart is not lifted up;
    my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
    too great and too marvelous for me.
2 But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
    like a weaned child with its mother;
    like a weaned child is my soul within me.

3 O Israel, hope in the Lord
    from this time forth and forevermore.