In preparation for the sermon I gave last week I listened to Rob Bell’s “best teaching on how to communicate” Something To Say audio book. It had some great advice that helped me improve my sermon but the one bit I’d like to write about here is a practice that has solved an important problem I’ve had.

Bad memory

I don’t have a great memory. My wife and I had a disagreement this morning. She bought us four passes to ride the rides at the Greenbelt Labor Day Festival this year. I didn’t have a pass last year and was sure that I liked it better that way. I save money and I don’t get sick riding spinning cups. Yet she assured me that last year I wished I had a pass. I wanted to share in the experience of my kids joy while riding the rides. Everything I remember says that she is wrong and I am right, except one thing. I know that she has a better memory than me, and 90% of the time when we disagree about these things I end up being wrong. So despite my inner insistence that she couldn’t be right I have to concede that she likely is.

How to hold onto the good stuff

Part of being a good communicator involves holding onto and weaving together the important stories of our life. In one of David Sedaris’ books he describes his journaling process. Every day he journals. Every month he looks over those journals and rewrites the best stuff. Every year he looks over those meta-journals and rewrites the best of the best. Through that process he has written many of the most interesting and funny memoirs that I have read. He is a master storyteller and a historian of his memories. If you aren’t familiar with him, start with Me Talk Pretty One Day, but really most of his stuff is great.

I’ve tried keeping a journal in the past but it never lasted more than a week or two. What I recorded always seemed too boring to be worth recording. I was upset at something a coworker said. I had a good dinner. I was exciting about a coffee date coming up. Nice, but eh. . .

So, I know I have a bad memory and that my experiences slipping away, and I know that central to having compelling communication are having good stories to tell. Yet when I’ve tried the labor intensive process of journaling I’ve failed multiple times. In my failure I knew I was letting my best experiences slip away from me.

Rob Bell had the solution. He talked about a word document he keeps on his computer with triggers for the interesting stories he’s encounter but doesn’t know what to do with yet. It’s quick and easy and holds the stories that touched him, brought something out in him, stories that have left a mark.

I’ve started such a document titled, “Stories that mean something”. The first two entries are “accidentally cremated” and “workplace resurrection”. I’ll end by sharing the stories that these two entries trigger.

Accidental cremation

A few weeks ago a coworker told me a story about a funeral home. She said there was a temp worker who stayed up late one night and came in for his shift exhausted. As the shift went on he got so tired he had to lay down on a gurney  for a nap, putting a sheet over himself so he could stay warm. This man had talent for sleeping like the dead, so when his coworker mistook him sleeping for the body they were scheduled to cremate he didn’t wake up, until he was inside the incinerator being burned alive.

When I heard this story it felt important, but when I later looked it up I found out it isn’t true. So maybe it is a story about the fickleness of life, or fake news. I’m not sure. But I want to hold onto it. I’m sure at some point it will find it’s place.

Workplace resurrection

Awhile ago there was an accident on the beltway. A tractor trailer plowed into a car crushing it and then pushing it into a third car. The first car struck was totaled, and the driver was instantly killed. The third car in this string belonged to a coworker of mine. He got banged up, had a black eye, but was largely fine. His car couldn’t drive anymore and he hadn’t brought his phone with him so he asked the police officer to call work for him, explaining why he would be late. The police officer took down his information but in the confusion of moment the police officer mixed up the information of my coworker with the deceased driver. So when he called our work he told us that my coworker was dead. He was a young guy, well liked, so when we were informed we took it pretty hard. We were solemn, not talking much for the rest of the morning.

Then around lunch time he came in, black eye, slight limp and all. The first person to see him started screaming. Then more people turned to look and started screaming and crying. He had no idea what was going on, but the emotion of it all overtook him and he started sobbing as everyone came over to hug him. Soon the whole department was there, crying, yelling, joyous with relief.

I was way down the hall at this point but there was no mistaking that something huge was going on. The lost had been returned. What was dead was now alive.

I haven’t figured out what to put this story either but there is no denying its power. A moment of grace in what felt like the ceaseless destruction that life brings upon us.