Our Full Story

When asked to participate in the art show, she arrived with half the canvas painted. When asked to recite, the actor delivered a portion of the monologue. And when the band performed their recent hit, they sang only two verses.

Absurd scenarios, I know, and yet they describe what so many of us do when offering our stories to the world around us. Perhaps we do so for self-protection, perhaps we do so because others wish to remain comfortable, but, whatever the reason, when we hold back parts of our story an incredible opportunity is missed. When we cling to our greatest asset, and our lives, and the lives of others, are diminished.

Recently, a friend told of when she sat beside another who was wrestling with a personal tragedy. Instead of sharing her experience with much the same tragedy in her own life, she remained quietly sympathetic. Too embarrassed to admit she’d been there too, the other was left feeling alone in her embarrassment, guilt, and grief.

At a church out west, members of the congregational leadership were encouraged to write “faith statements,” and take turns sharing them with the others throughout the year. Much to his dismay, one man was not asked to share his. With a dramatic downfall in his past, there was little room between the dots about why his invitation was withheld.

Instead of partially painted canvases, portions of a monologues or songs, we owe the world around us all of who we are, the good and bad, the ups and downs. To edit, is to squander the very experiences that make us who we are. To offer them fully is "to see how our experience can benefit others," as they say in 12-step recovery circles. It's a moment when life becomes abundant, and the ground between us sacred.

The season of Lent is a reflective one, a time to examine our lives fully. We all have things of which we are proud and ashamed, and many others that fall somewhere in between. To not regret our past, nor wish to shut the door on it, is to offer the world the sacred gift it needs most, our selves.