Have I told you about the time…?

Written by: Ms. O

I had never really thought about why we place so much importance to sharing our story. It seems to be a part of our nature….at least for me it is.

We all have touchpoints that trigger a memory, and the dialogue just seems to flow.

When my siblings are together, there are a lot of “remember when’s”…which I truly think is our way of refreshing our own memories. We talk about the home we grew up in…our grandparents and the weekends/holidays we would share with them.

We bring up the Sunday drives…our trips to Lenape Amusement Park to ride the old wooden roller coaster (that sent chills down my spine), and the bumper cars that had sparks flying everywhere.

We remember vacationing at Echo Lake in upstate New York in these rustic cabins that had enough charm to make up for its lack of amenities….going to the drive-in movies (although I was always jealous of the people that got to go to the concession stand since we always brought our own snack/juice)…and the list of memories goes on.

Each memory brings a flood of smells… tastes… sounds… and remembered sights….that bind us together.

I love to share the stories with my kids…for a variety of reasons. My kids know it’s coming (I am sure I get that far off look in my eyes…that “sit down cause here she goes again” sense of resignation).

I want them to know where I came from…what we did for fun…and hopefully to give them a glimpse of “who I was”…compared to who I have become…which plays an important part to the parent I am for them.

During our recent trip to Israel…each day when we stopped…I felt as if God was sitting with me….whispering in my ear, “…sit with me…I have something to share.”

As we visited the sites, I heard him lean in to say…

This is where I used David in a way that still urges people today to conquer their fears”…as we looked out over Azekah…chose our stones from Wadi Elah….the place that David fought Goliath.


I called out to Samuel in this place…three times…on the fourth he answered me back.”….as we sat in the ruins of Shiloh.

These steps you are sitting on,” God murmured, “Joseph and Mary brought my Son up these stairs…to the Temple…as a young man…Who later would teach from these same stairs.”…(that entrance to the Temple Mount took on a bigger meaning for me…much more than rock…cut stone.)


I felt “paused by God” at Harod Spring…glancing down at the water…hearing God.. “Gideon had way too many men…he had Me…so the numbers would be cut down…..bend down to the spring…lap or cup…and the army would dwindle…so they would know it was Me who fought with them.”

I felt like each stop along our route was marked…just waiting for me to open my Bible….to revisit the story…and become familiar once again. It truly came to light the importance of sharing our stories…to make known our life history.

Yes, I still want my kids to know my history…to realize where I grew up…the path that brought me to here…but I add something to that…to see that way back…way before I knew Him…God knew me…and saw in me something I never saw myself…a life worth living.

I left Israel with a new understanding…after He shared His story with me…that I am a part of that Story…a living breathing creation of His.

And I am called to proclaim that love story when I share my own. 

“I love to tell the story, twill be my theme in glory, to tell the old old story, Of Jesus and His love.”

That story never gets old…

Back from the Holy Land,

Ms. O