The picture sits on my desk. I'm not sure why I like it near me, but I do. Accidently discovered in a tattered box in a shed at my mother's house, my great, great grandfather's picture brings more questions than answers.
I always knew he came to America in the 1800's with three brothers. But I never knew why he left Germany. I never knew his dreams or aspirations, what kind of man he was, or what his life was like. I don't even know his name. And while genealogical research can fill in some gaps, it will never reveal the untold stories of his heart.
It makes me wonder. Will my great, great grandchildren look at my picture and not know my name, or anything about my life, my passions, my struggles, my dreams? Or will they have heard stories along the way and know that their great, great grandmother followed her dreams to move back to Montana and become a writer, passionately loved their great, great grandfather, and wished future generations a world filled with tolerance, trust, love and peace.
I learned the importance of telling heart-stories from a colleague years ago. He drew me aside one day to tell me how much he respected my work. But he confessed, “I'm not sure I can trust you because I don't know your heart. You never share your stories.” His words stuck with me. Stories told from the heart weave a tapestry for trust and understanding. Just as fables and fairy tales help us learn about the world as children, life stories help us learn about our humanity and connection as adults.
But real connection can't come without deep, conscious listening. In the months before Alzheimer's took his words away, my father relentlessly told and re-told stories of his Big Band era experiences. His eyes lit up when he pointed to pictures of himself playing the clarinet and sax on stage. His passionate retelling of those stories was a gift.
Sure, I'd heard them many times before, but I'd missed the man behind them. This time when I listened with my heart, I got it. These were not just stories about my father's life; these were stories about his soul.
Music was my father's gift to the world and the way he best communicated. When he could no longer speak, his music was there a while longer to tell us the love in his heart. I will tell his stories to his great granddaughters so as they grow up, they will come to know this gentle man as a soul filled with music.
Stories told from the heart can touch a heart. In the scheme of things, they're a profound gift. And if we quiet our mind enough to listen from our heart, that gift can touch the soul.
(c) 2010 Nan S. Russell. All Rights Reserved.
Nan S. Russell is the award-winning author of "Hitting Your Stride: Your Work, Your Way." More about Nan and her work can be found at www.nanrussell.com. Author of "Hitting Your Stride: Your Work, Your Way" (Capital Books; January 2008) Sign up to receive Nan's free monthly eColumn at: www.intheschemeofthings.com.
