Tell Me a Story: How sharing can make a difference

Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation.

—Joel 1:3

One of my least favorite chores is dusting, so I usually put it off until I absolutely must do it. I was at that point a few days before Thanksgiving. I knew I had to get my house in order before my daughter, Rebekah, and her family arrived. I removed objects from the top of my dresser, including the mother-daughter figurine that Rebekah had given me for Christmas a couple years back. As I wiped the statuette, I read the engraving on the back: tell me a story.

It seemed a message aimed directly at me. Lately I had been thinking about my writing and how I had been putting it off, like the dusting, not because I dislike it (I enjoy it!), but because other things had gotten in the way. I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. This was a confirmation.

An idea struck. What if I challenged myself to write one story for each day of the Advent season? Could I do it? Could I allow the words to flow from my brain to my fingertips without stopping to “workshop” word choice and placement? I wanted to try. I wanted to honor the Savior with my words without getting hung up on perfectionism.

When Rebekah arrived, I told her my idea.

“Do you think you have enough stories?” she asked.

Like a Pattern: Teaching gratitude to our children

Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up.

—Deuteronomy 6:7 NLT

The morning air was chilly and the wind howled outside my window, but inside I was cozy, propped up in bed, pillows behind me and a warm quilt thrown over my legs. I sipped hot coffee as I read from Jesus Calling: “A thankful attitude opens windows of heaven. Spiritual blessings fall freely onto you through those openings into eternity. Moreover, as you look up with a grateful heart, you get glimpses of Glory through those windows” (Young 341).

Pausing to ponder those words so fitting on the day before Thanksgiving, I heard footsteps from somewhere else in the house, a sound quite unusual in my home occupied solely by myself. The steps grew louder as they approached my bedroom. The door flew open and my four-year-old granddaughter, Layla, padded to my bed.