Imagination Redeemed: A Conference of The Anselm Society, Sept 25 & 25, 2021
I love a good story. And I like telling one, especially if I think it will get a laugh.
When Becky and I are in a group, and a tale comes to mind, like the one about the irate Minnesotan who cussed me out for a negligible offense,1 she will sometimes say,
“Go ahead, you tell it.”
This is very kind of her. I often need her to bat clean-up, though, because I sometimes leave out details and mix up the storyline. 😉
You Had Me At Carriage House
To my rescue, then, I attended a very helpful seminar by Michelle Drake at the Anselm conference entitled Story Telling As Our Inheritance.
The setting has a story of its own: Glen Eyrie Castle outside of Colorado Springs, CO.
Now owned by The Navigators, the estate was developed in 1871 by General William Jackson Palmer, a railroad tycoon.
Forget the castle on the hill, I say. I’ll take the carriage house in which Ms. Drake gave her talk!
Sheep “Sheering Off”
We had heard that big horn sheep frequented the grounds, and sure enough, a pack of them wandered the green lawns under a perfectly blue sky on a perfectly lovely day (75°).
Not to be outdone by that showing, the same pack, I presume, clambered down the face of a small cliff next to the parking lot, posing for our phones.
The Art of Telling a Story
Back to Ms. Drake. She inspired me, not just to tell more stories, but to refine them.
I’m accustomed to creating illustrations from human interest accounts in my sermons, but I’ve not practiced the art of telling stand-alone tales.
It’s more work than it seems.
The easy part for me is getting wound up with excitement or dropping bombs on my listeners. The temptation is strong in the case of the irate guy in the pick-up truck.
I could get all animated and imitative about his hand gestures (more precisely, a finger gesture) and his angry clincher that left us dumbfounded.
I’ve told this story a few times and found it left people shocked but not necessarily edified.
Let me run you through Michelle’s well-worn path for effective story telling, and then let’s see if I can salvage my roadside saga:
8 Practices for Effective Story Telling
Figure out the climax or key moment. Let it make a home in your heart so you know what you’re building toward. That’s the takeaway you want your hearers to remember.
Write it out. If you’re telling another story, re-write it in your own words.
The Friday night presenter did this magnificently in re-telling the J.R.R. Tolkien tale Leaf By Niggle. Heidi White clearly stayed true to the written tale, but she made it her own, even tossing in current idioms and phrases. Use hooks; don’t be afraid to be a little cliche. The goal is communication with your audience.
“Tell the truth, but tell it slant.” -Emily Dickinson. There’s no such thing as a perfect recital of events. Don’t lie, but don’t be afraid to embellish or stoke the imagination. Appeal to senses. Create tension. Use “maybes” sometimes.
Use repetition! In verbal communication, such as preaching or stand-up comedy, it’s those repeated hooks, words, or phrases that stick in our hearers’ minds, create memory, and enhance comprehension.
Break it up into phases. This can be done in a written manuscript using blocking, separate pages, or pictures. A good storyteller does not read her story! But the notes act as chapter headings so the teller knows where she is in the story.
Use your voice as an instrument. Volume, cadence, pace, and surprises will keep your audience’s attention, even if you don’t have a “classic voice.” Even my raspy voice? Sure, why not.
Use your body as an instrument.
A college course I took was called “Oral Interpretation of Literature” in which we practiced and performed lengthy sections of writing. The point wasn’t to act but to embody the story in one’s own style. We were allowed to read, but the most effective interpreters kept eye contact, used simple gestures, and worked their physical presence to the hilt.
Practice, Practice, Practice. Rehearsing a story elevates it beyond “a curious thing that happened” to a connecting experience, an opportunity for persuasion, and sometimes an glimpse of transcendence.
Minnesotan Wrath?
As I’ve thought about the fellow at the rest stop who stopped to inform me that I was taking up two handicapped parking spots and proceeded to vent his rage at me, that the key moment was not his double expletive insult but my reaction to his tirade.2
When he yelled to inform me of my transgression, I was well aware that our car was using up two of five blue spaces, and I replied in a guy-to-guy happy manner, “Yeah, I know! We’re just snapping a quick picture.”
To which he shouted that I should move the car to a regular spot.
Initially, I was fearful and felt a pull to assuage him with, “Oh, I see, yes! I’m so sorry. You’re right, I’ll just jump back in the car and move to an appropriate spot.”
But I stood my ground, calmly: “Sir, we’re gonna be done here in 20 seconds.”
Then came his vulgar rejoinder which, as many tirades tend to be, was farcical. He floored his truck and made off down the exit ramp.
I snapped the picture; not a good one, I must admit, because neither of us wanted to hang around that spot. It felt like the opposite of holy ground.
A few minutes into our drive from the rest stop, I turned to Becky and asked, “Was that guy’s reaction equal to our crime?”
She replied emphatically, “No way!”
I agreed. Unlike other moments when I’ve gotten “busted” for running a stop sign on my bike or creating a disturbance in a faculty meeting, in this case, I knew deep down we were just snapping a photo.
And that this guy was off his nut. What was eating him?
Maybe he once had a dying wife, a handicap pass, and way too many run-ins with doofuses parking illegally.
Or maybe he’s a rule-keeper who can’t abide someone doing anything the wrong way, and he assumed we had just driven in, ignoring the signs.
Or, as our Wisconsin friends suggested, maybe he was listening to the Vikings game on the radio. At that precise moment on Sunday afternoon, they were losing!
I don’t want to sound overly-righteous, but I found myself praying for that man.
Who knows what sort of rage had been directed at him? Who knows what kind of trial he’s up against?
We’ve all lost it at some point in our lives, and we’re all fighting battles.
By some kind of grace, he did not get out of his truck and pummel me. By a similar grace, I suppose, I didn’t lose it on him either.
Let that be the takeaway.
A story in the footnotes? No, I think it deserves to be up in the body. Sit tight.
It’s a little vulgar to include here, but I’ll recount it in person if you really want me to. Just ask, and I’ll conjur up all the faux rage I can. 😤