The Only Story We’ll Regret is the One Left Untold

I have little time to scroll through my FB timeline, but when I do, I often get a bright idea for my next blog. I saw a post that inspired me to keep telling stories of my past. Even though my listeners and readers may yawn at yet another one of my Wife, Mom or Nana stories, I know they might remember that story and pass it on to their kiddos one day.

There are many things I would do over in a better way, if I could, but I can’t so I won’t live in regret. No “what if’s” or “if onlys”, because that’s no way of living. What I do on-purpose to plant seeds and cultivate them is what matters today. See if this friend’s FB post impacts you, too!

“I’ve encountered the worst, most horrible, awful aspect of cleaning out my dad’s house, which belonged to my grandparents before him. We have lost all the stories. I was my dad’s only child, and he was my grandparents’ only child. My dad’s death was unexpected, so I never got the full data dump of family stories from him, especially as it relates to our heirlooms. I encounter one object after another that is very old. I know it has deep meaning to my family, but I don’t know details. Which clock is the one that was a wedding gift to my great-great grandparents? Whom did this 1892 Bible belong to? What were the items brought to Texas by covered wagon by my ancestors in the 1850s? My dad knew. Now, he’s gone. There is no one left to ask. I will never know. The stories died with him.

Never has the power of “stories” been more apparent to me than today. It’s reminded me of why I defend people sharing their lives on social media, even if it means we’re walking around taking selfies all the time. When someone is photographing or videoing their lives, it’s not usually because they’re vain or addicted to their phone. It’s because they want to share. They have a story to tell, and they want someone to hear it.

As someone who is reeling from the loss of stories and the questions I didn’t ask, I encourage you to be bolder in sharing your own. As I sit in my family’s house, surrounded by objects full of secrets I’ll never know, I can promise you the only story you’ll regret is the one that doesn’t get told.”

So, tell those stories, dear friends! Let those youngsters know about walking to school in knee-deep snow (that’s for my Canadian family). My mother-in-law tells those stories. Tell us how you came to know Jesus. Tell us how He made a difference in your life. Tell us about how you nearly gave up — but God. Tell us about that vase and where it came from. I love that my mother-in-law labelled every item that had been given to her by putting a piece of masking tape under that item with a name and date. I cherish those items she passed on to me.

And, if you still have your parents around, ask them questions. Ask them to tell you their love story. Ask them about how they managed to make it during their toughest times. My children don’t have to ask me because I’ve been generous with sharing our story. I talk a lot about my precious husband — on purpose. My two youngest grands wouldn’t typically remember too much about him, but they do because we keep Papa in the present in our conversations and with photos.

With this blog today, I’m giving you a heads-up. Don’t take chances that you’ll have your loved ones with you forever or that YOU will be on this side of heaven forever! Ask them about their lives – I mean REALLY delve into WHO they were and what their memories were all about. And you, start telling YOUR story. I promise you – you will be so glad you did – if not today – someday, when you wish you had!