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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Character Based
- Published: 04/20/2015
It is just a story.
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United StatesSo many people.
Thousands of them.
Some nervous, some excited, some tired and cynical. It has been a long day.
Out comes a guy. He takes the stage. Moves to the center, takes the mic out, and smiles.
Or maybe.
It is a girl.
Who steps out into the lights.
Walks to the center, takes out the mic, and smiles.
Maybe, just maybe, there was no stage.
Maybe there was no mic.
Maybe there was no smile.
Perhaps someone just started across a side walk, or decided to stop in for a latte.
Perhaps someone got tired of dancing, covered with sweat, they went outside to cool down.
Perhaps it was as simple as facing a vending machine, with a bag of pretzels stuck the screw pushing the bag to the edge, but not enough to fall.
At that moment, the crowd could be just one other person.
Or, maybe two or three people, but only one that ended up making a difference.
For at some point in your life, or mine, you got a chance. One chance, A chance to tell, start, or finish your story.
For some, it took a stage, with an audience of thousands, music, preparation, and a special moment.
For others, it was a moment, that only time made special, because it started with a bag of Pretzels, and a : “Do you need some help?”
A smile, a laugh, a moments embarrassment, and your story started to unfold.
Someone else, changed their lives in a single moment, in front of adoring fans, who hadn’t had their’s yet, but supported yours.
Maybe your moment, was a single moment, unwitnessed by anyone, as you sat in a holler in Tennessee, deciding to become the first Ph.D in your family.
Maybe, just maybe, your moment was shared. A touch, a smile, eyes meeting, as if they had always known who was looking back.
It could be something so simple, so elegant, so miraculous, we take it for granted- the moment you became a Mother. A human, yours alone, carried in your body, then released to your care, your love, your life- for ever. A story that is told every day, a special story no less miraculous because of its commonality. The miracle of birth, is no less than that- it is the beginning of everyone’s story.
Stories drive people to be more, or less, than they can be. Stories are so important, that we have told some that survived for millennia, without being written down. Your story isn’t over yet. It can be rewritten, retold, but not relived. For stories are rivers of life, they can be told twice, but never as the same story, just like the water in a river, some of your story has already gone downstream. Some of your story has pooled and eddied, settling into a small quiet area, strewn with the stories of your life, as pebbles on the floor of the river wash.
Other stories are waiting for you to bring them to the flow of your life. Even if you think you have no story to tell, or your story isn’t that wonderful, or exciting, or magical…your story is unique to you. It may be the story someone else needs to hear, to tell their story. Your miracle was birth, your life’s story, is up to you. If you loved, if you cried, if you hoped, if you dared, if you tried and failed, if you cared …then you have a story…or two.
Life, after all…it is just a story.
Smiles, Kevin at home
It is just a story.(Kevin Hughes)
So many people.
Thousands of them.
Some nervous, some excited, some tired and cynical. It has been a long day.
Out comes a guy. He takes the stage. Moves to the center, takes the mic out, and smiles.
Or maybe.
It is a girl.
Who steps out into the lights.
Walks to the center, takes out the mic, and smiles.
Maybe, just maybe, there was no stage.
Maybe there was no mic.
Maybe there was no smile.
Perhaps someone just started across a side walk, or decided to stop in for a latte.
Perhaps someone got tired of dancing, covered with sweat, they went outside to cool down.
Perhaps it was as simple as facing a vending machine, with a bag of pretzels stuck the screw pushing the bag to the edge, but not enough to fall.
At that moment, the crowd could be just one other person.
Or, maybe two or three people, but only one that ended up making a difference.
For at some point in your life, or mine, you got a chance. One chance, A chance to tell, start, or finish your story.
For some, it took a stage, with an audience of thousands, music, preparation, and a special moment.
For others, it was a moment, that only time made special, because it started with a bag of Pretzels, and a : “Do you need some help?”
A smile, a laugh, a moments embarrassment, and your story started to unfold.
Someone else, changed their lives in a single moment, in front of adoring fans, who hadn’t had their’s yet, but supported yours.
Maybe your moment, was a single moment, unwitnessed by anyone, as you sat in a holler in Tennessee, deciding to become the first Ph.D in your family.
Maybe, just maybe, your moment was shared. A touch, a smile, eyes meeting, as if they had always known who was looking back.
It could be something so simple, so elegant, so miraculous, we take it for granted- the moment you became a Mother. A human, yours alone, carried in your body, then released to your care, your love, your life- for ever. A story that is told every day, a special story no less miraculous because of its commonality. The miracle of birth, is no less than that- it is the beginning of everyone’s story.
Stories drive people to be more, or less, than they can be. Stories are so important, that we have told some that survived for millennia, without being written down. Your story isn’t over yet. It can be rewritten, retold, but not relived. For stories are rivers of life, they can be told twice, but never as the same story, just like the water in a river, some of your story has already gone downstream. Some of your story has pooled and eddied, settling into a small quiet area, strewn with the stories of your life, as pebbles on the floor of the river wash.
Other stories are waiting for you to bring them to the flow of your life. Even if you think you have no story to tell, or your story isn’t that wonderful, or exciting, or magical…your story is unique to you. It may be the story someone else needs to hear, to tell their story. Your miracle was birth, your life’s story, is up to you. If you loved, if you cried, if you hoped, if you dared, if you tried and failed, if you cared …then you have a story…or two.
Life, after all…it is just a story.
Smiles, Kevin at home
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