God

Traveling beyond the story

by Steve Brock on April 4, 2013

We’ve looked at what makes a good story and how conflict can actually lead to better stories and trips. Now let’s explore another form of storytelling and why sometimes not telling the story may lead to a better experience.

Once upon a timeIn the book Storytelling: Branding in Practice, the authors describe a simple storytelling structure with which we’re all familiar: the fairy tale.

They note that most fairy tales have six elements:

  • The benefactor (e.g. the king or queen in many tales)
  • The reward (e.g. “half my kingdom” or the princess)
  • The beneficiary (e.g. the brave prince who gets the reward if he succeeds)
  • The support (e.g. the fairy godmother or loyal squire)
  • The hero (e.g. often the same as the beneficiary such as the prince but not always)
  • The adversary (e.g. the villain, dragon or other obstacle to overcome)

The fairy tale may have some twists and turns along the way, but it tends to follow the five P’s of person, plot, point (moral), problem (conflict) and purpose (goal). The prince sets out to rescue the fair princess from the evil villain, overcomes many challenges along the way and eventually prevails with the aid of his trusted sidekick and earns his reward from the king.

When I first started thinking about applying this framework to trips, it made sense. For example, on a trip to Switzerland years ago, the benefactor might be the kind family I met on the train who took me in for the weekend. The reward was a free place to stay and wonderful company (and food). I was the beneficiary, they were the hero. My support was my willingness to venture out alone and the adversary was, possibly the risk of strangers or, conversely loneliness or boredom (had I not met them).

But here’s where the emphasis on story starts to break down. No matter how well I describe that weekend, not much happened that would be of interest to others. However, it was an incredible experience for me as I made new friends and got to know daily life in a different culture up close. But is hanging out with a Swiss family for three days interesting to others? Not likely.

Using the fairy tale model can help you tell better stories. But in an effort to tell those better stories,  we forget that sometimes we don’t have to. Some experiences are best left as experiences. You don’t have to translate everything into words so that others can understand. That especially applies to today’s world where we can feel that if we don’t share what happened on Facebook or Twitter, our experiences somehow aren’t validated or as meaningful.

Some of our best trips will make lousy stories even as they change our lives. What happens on a trip may be for you and God alone. And many times, that’s the way it should remain.

So remember this next time someone asks about your trip: Even if you know how to tell a great story, sometimes the most meaningful thing you can do is not to try.

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The accessible God

by Steve Brock on December 29, 2012

Baby Jesus in my hand. I borrowed this Baby Jesus from a Nativity scene we picked up in France. He’s not to scale here, but then, neither are we…

Though it occurred only a few days ago, Christmas seems as distant as the horizon, vaguely visible but out of reach. I have passed by and through another Christmas. Though holiday décor still abounds, most of the spirit of Christmas has gone the way of holiday music on the radio.

Christmas fades so quickly, at least to me, because it seems so overly familiar. Or at least it did until this year.

This Christmas, I found within one of the most familiar parts of the Christmas story something that has both mystified and awed me: Jesus came into this world as a baby.

I know. Big revelation, as if I haven’t seen thousands of Nativity scenes, Christmas plays, cards and every other form of Christmas regalia picturing a cute, chubby infant in a straw-filled manger.

I get that Jesus came to us in the ordinary way of birth and crying and needing his mommy just like every one of us. What has grabbed me this year, however, is just what that means.

When I was a kid, we sang about how “He’s got the whole world (pronounced as a two-syllable word no less) in his hands…” That’s the way grown ups seemed to want us to picture God: Big and awesome and capable of holding this world and all others in the universe in his hands. But then along comes Jesus and suddenly, everything is all turned upside down.

The One who holds the universe is now held in the hands of a young mother, a carpenter, some shepherds, Simeon, Anna and likely many others. God has not only made himself small enough to hold, but he’s made himself vulnerable to the point where he would die without the care of others.

Why?

Because in that vulnerability, he becomes accessible to us. I can’t fully imagine a God who holds galaxies. But I can relate to a child, much like ones I have held in my own arms. God loves us so much that he takes the form of a tiny baby just so we could know what it means to hold him that close.

The day after Christmas, I read a Christmas letter from the wife of an old college buddy of mine I haven’t seen for several years. She wrote to inform us that my friend had recently passed away after losing a long battle with cancer. As I read her words, as everything inside me started to tear apart, I found myself doing what I have learned over time to do in such situations: I lifted up my friend’s family to God and in my own pain, I turned and, like the hold hymn noted, I rested in the loving arms of Jesus.

I rested in his arms.

And yet, two thousand years ago, he rested in the arms of people just like you and me. I don’t understand it, but somehow, I sense that these are not separate ideas.

All I know for sure this Christmas is that I cannot think of that child in the manger in the same way. There is more mystery and wonder than I can explain, but I realize at least this much:

There’s a lot more about Christmas to hold onto than I ever imagined.

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A not so silent night

by Steve Brock on December 21, 2012

On a trip last week, I attended a special Andrew Peterson Christmas concert. I was struck by a line that opens his song, “Labor of Love:”

“It was not a silent night.”

Each year we sing of a silent night, a holy night. Holy, yes. But silent?

My limited experience with childbirth alone would indicate otherwise: think of the gasps, breaths and cries of the mother followed by the wails of the newborn child. Add to that the sounds of animals who do not move and bleat and chew cud noiselessly. And then there’s that “multitude of the heavenly host praising God.” Not a duet or a small chorus. A multitude.

Silent night?

I think what appeals to me about the song, “Silent Night” is that it paints a picture of what I’d like Christmas to be like: quiet, holy, peaceful and filled with beauty and contentment. But that’s not what Christmas looks like most years for me, especially this year.

For some reason this year, many of my clients have wanted to get projects either wrapped up or started before Christmas. This has meant a number of trips crammed into the holiday season. Travel has worn me and created a longing for a place of silence, of holiness, of peace.

I’ve found small pockets of that. Or correction: I’ve made a point to carve out these quiet moments for they do not come to me on their own. I need the still, silent moments to reflect on the deeper meaning of that child in the manager or else he becomes just another holiday symbol not all that much different than Santa or Rudolph, as bad as that sounds. I have to find the silent moments or I get lost and Christmas gets lost to me.

But amidst all the travel comes this reminder: It was not a silent night. Jesus did not come into a perfect world. He arrived smack dab in the dirt and smells of a manger, of parents on a trip with no hotel and of a land under oppression. He came into a very noisy and messy place.

A world very much like my own.

And in that realization of a not-so-silent night comes the true blessing of this season. God meets us in the ordinariness of our lives. He is found in the hustle and bustle of the holidays, the stresses of the season and the busyness of the everyday.

I still need to seek out that stillness. But I also am starting to realize that Jesus came into a world that isn’t so silent and still. The shepherds found him in the midst of their world. And if I pay attention amidst all the craziness around me, I can do the same.

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Top 5 life lessons from mountain biking – Part 4b

by Steve Brock November 1, 2012

Bike riding, travel and life all reveal that balance may not be all we think it is. There might just be a better approach to pursue than balance. What is it?

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The ongoing nature of discovery

by Steve Brock August 23, 2012

Discovery doesn’t end when we come home from a trip. It can continue for days – years even – if we pay attention and learn to discern what God may be showing us.

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Messages along the way

by Steve Brock May 16, 2012

God often speaks to us in subtle ways. On trips, however, sometimes he’s not so subtle. A quick weekend trip to Leavenworth, WA and some graffiti on an old bridge raise questions about how – and what – we discover when we travel.

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Another look at moss

by Steve Brock March 6, 2012

Why focus on moss as a travel subject? More to the point, what do you do with the green things of life like moss? You learn the lost art of appreciation…

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