Once upon a time, it was a dark and stormy night, or it happened one night. No matter how it starts, stories can engage us with the deep Truth of life. Stories help us interpret our experiences and work through problems. Using stories in your small group brings a fresh perspective, anchors listeners to Truth in tangible ways, and puts flesh and blood on abstract ideas. 

 “You best start believing in ghost stories, Miss Turner. You're in one.” Our lives are collections of stories. Good storytelling skills include knowing the point of the story, where “once upon a time” starts, what scenes to develop in the middle, and how to end. 

“I was born a poor, black child.” Rarely do we need the details of your birth certificate, what your bff wrote in your high school yearbook, or the name of your first cat.

My story: I had one more year of seminary then was packing my bags for the mission field. Now, the old biddies in my dad’s church loved to set me up. “Have you met anyone, honey? I know this nice young man…” I always cut them off. My plans were bigger than that.

Notice I keep this brief. I only share a couple of details pertinent to the story.
"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

Here’s where the fun begins. Something intriguing, painful or exciting happened to get the story going. You may have denied it at first but finally gave in.

My story: Patsy didn’t offer men on silver platters. Not until this one. “No, Patsy,” I said. But she had a card up her sleeve. “He’s interested in missions.” Maybe I’d give it a try. Sure, I told her. “Well,” she said. “He’s in Africa right now. I’ll send him your email.” Oy vey.

Notice I insert dialogue to make it more interesting and give you a taste of how I felt about her latest revelation that he was overseas: “oy vey.”

“Follow the yellow brick road.” We’ve landed in Oz. There’s nothing to do but hit the road. These scenes show the scarecrows, lion, and tin men, the witches and monkeys, the fireballs and rusting rain.

My story: Chris sent emails from Africa. I sent them from Texas. Having a heart for missions, I loved hearing his stories. I have no idea why he kept emailing me. It was never about building some relationship, not a romantic one at least. Okay, if I’m honest with myself, there was a level of attraction. But don’t tell him that.

He came back to the States a week before Christmas. After the holidays, we still emailed. Ridiculous, I thought. I’m not going to email a guy who lives thirty minutes away. Either we’ll meet and see if this thing goes anywhere or we’ll go our separate ways. I emailed him. Want to meet for coffee?

I didn’t know at the time he was dating another woman. Not dating. He hates when I say that. He had one date with another girl his boss set him up with. Lucky for me, there were no stars that night. Must’ve been cloudy.

We met at Starbucks—where any trendy couple meets these days. Coffee turned into dinner, and dinner turned into a second date. He even brought me flowers—birds of paradise.

He was smart and funny…and not interested in long-term missions.

Every time I saw him for the next month, I was going to end it. Except I kept getting myself into another date. Once, he took me to the Dallas Museum of Art. I stood in front of this painting of Italy—where I had a missions spot waiting for me—wondering what on earth I was doing. If only the man didn’t smell like Dolce&Gabbana and look like my dream guy.

Notice this section is longer than the other sections. I chose specific obstacles that highlight the problem: he comes back but doesn’t ask to meet, he goes on a date with a different girl, and the biggest one, he doesn’t want to do long-term missions. While I thought through how each scene fits into the bigger story, I don’t explain that—listeners like to figure this out on their own. I also add humor for flavor. The details make the story come alive (met at Starbucks, for example, not just any coffeehouse or restaurant; he brought me not just flowers, but the exotic birds of paradise; he didn’t smell like any cologne but like Dolce&Gabbana), but keep the details pertinent to the story. One of my favorite details to use is smell. Proust wrote, “When nothing else subsists from the past…the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time.” Smell, more than any other sense, engages a listener by stimulating their memories and experiences.

“How many times do I have to kill you, boy?” We’ve reached the heart of the story: Jonah in the belly of the whale coming to terms with who he is, Jack Sparrow and Captain Barbossa in the cave fighting to the death, and Dorothy in the Wicked Witch’s castle. What was the major turning point or major battle for you in this journey?

My story: I couldn’t do it any longer. We were going to be seeing each other Saturday night, and it was time. I must’ve called the poor guy half a dozen times that morning: “I can’t make our date, I have to work on a paper.” Then, “I got enough done on the paper. I can go.” Then, “I forgot I have to work on my thesis.” Then, “No, I can work on my thesis tomorrow.” I don’t know why Chris didn’t end it right then! I prayed for an hour before going out that night.

But every time I tried to speak, nothing came out. It was like God closing the mouths of the lions. In the car on the way home, I literally opened my mouth five or six times with every intention of saying the simplest of words, “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” but it was like my vocal chords were paralyzed.
Notice how I built up the scene: I was going to call it off; I prayed for an hour. In fact, that took more time than the ordeal itself.

“Merry Christmas, movie house! Merry Christmas, Emporium! Merry Christmas, you wonderful old Building and Loan!” The climax resolves: Jesus resurrected from the grave, George Bailey resurrected from his unlife, Will Turner learned to tell Elizabeth he loves her.

My story: I didn’t end it. Neither did Chris, though I found out later he had plans to give me the same line that night. I guess God shut both of our mouths. We got married instead. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt Chris is God’s plan for me.

Notice what I don’t tell you: I don’t tell you about the year of dating after that, the tears I shed over the decision between Chris and missions, the first time Chris told me he loved me. It’s more interesting to show a couple of specific events than tell every emotion and episode. The art of storytelling is as much in holding back as it is in telling.

The End