Thursday, November 13, 2008

What are we but our stories?

I am reading “Sam’s Letters to Jennifer” by James Patterson. Last night a passage from the book spoke volumes to me. I want to share it with you today.

“As I chiseled my column, the day disappeared into night. At one in the morning, I was still writing and rewriting about how lucky I was that Sam has put her thoughts down for me to read. How many of my readers were so lucky? How many of us know the true stories of our parents and grandparents? How many of us share the stories of our lives with our own children? What a loss to the children if we don’t. What are we but our stories?”

Whether you are a blog reader or writer, you know the power of the written word. My blog started with the desire to tell my story. I’m afraid that I sound very conceited in revealing this. The desire to tell my story is not based on an incredible fascination with me, but in the joy and wonder I felt when I read part of my grandparent’s story. Their story took me to Holland during WWII when they were dating. It was intriguing to have a window into their early life together.

I have no idea if my words will be poured over by my children or grandchildren. I am happy to know that if they want to open a door to the past and see what things were like for us, it is revealed here. I am revealed here.

“What are we but our stories?” - James Patterson

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