I finished reciting my tale, expecting gales of laughter. Instead, the room fell silent. I stared at my college roommates. Why did they look confused instead of delighted?

I turned to face Melanie. She read the question in my eyes, sighed, and said, “Here’s a better way to tell it.” She then retold my narrative with slight embellishments that elicited the fit of giggles I was hoping for.

I sighed. Some kids are gifted storytellers. Others are not.

I am not. So, why would I start a publication based solely on telling stories? The thing is, I’m not here because I can spin a gripping yarn but because I deeply love to hear one.

I love to listen, and I love to read. I learned to sign my name before I learned to write the full alphabet just so that I could get a library card. I still devour books like they are calorie-free doughnuts. When I consider the end of my days, I pray the Lord will fill me in on everyone’s stories. I want to know how it all turns out because I believe that stories matter.

Let me say that another way:

I believe that your story matters.

Do you remember friendship bracelets? These were small, braided loops made of colorful floss. It was a great honor to receive one from a friend in middle school. I feel that same sense of privilege when a friend shares their stories with me. It helps me understand them better, and their stories become part of my story. Our narrative threads wind together and make a friendship.

Your story matters because it contributes one thread of floss braided with countless others that God continually weaves together to create an unfathomably beautiful tapestry—an unfinished tapestry of tales of great love and deep grief, knit together by all of our ordinary days in between.

I cannot comprehend the full tapestry of God’s creation, but I can see Him at work in the bracelet strands of acquaintances and friendships woven around me. Your story matters because it helps me see part of God’s bigger story and how my life knits into it. And I don’t just mean the fun stories. I mean the ones that make me cry, challenge me to think, help me to grow, spur me to action, or show me the way forward.

On my desk is a jar of embroidery floss in different colors. Some strands are metallic and flashy, others are neatly wound in their pull-skeins, and many are unbound and tangled. These threads remind me of all the stories held inside, waiting to be told and braided together with mine, with yours, with ours—stories that are shiny, funny, messy, tangled, bright, dull, and undone. Please tell your story because someone today needs to see it, hear it, read it, or hold it. Your story matters.

© 2023 Lori Myers Berry