I met two men this year.
One a (predictably) unlikely encounter. The other less preposterous, but equally fruitful.
Each had a story to tell. Their stories are not mine-to-tell, but the insight that resulted is different.
The insight is mine. That, I own.
The first encounter happened Serendipitously, because a garage door was open and an item was visible. This man, just passing by, inquired, and the inquiry led to a conversation.
Conversation can quickly become self-disclosure (at least in my world), and within just a few minutes I learned just how extraordinary his life had been.
His story is not mine, but I was struck by how much pain he had experienced. How much courage he had, so early, as he pursued a better life. How much he had been blessed by another person saying Yes. And later, how he had survived shock and betrayal, multiple times, and also, protection.
The other encounter was less preposterous. This man I met at a meeting, and we were introduced pragmatically. He needed help with a task. I had the skills to assist. A few hours of collaboration were fruitful; his task was completed and I also gained the benefit of collaborating in a new way, and observing a different kind of capability that I had not proven I had before.
What I didn’t expect was to encounter this person’s story, which again, I must obscure somewhat because it is not mine. It belongs to him.
This man had also experienced pain, but later in life. There was shock and betrayal, multiple times, but … his response was different.
So different!
He told his story with relish, with satisfaction, almost even at times, with glee. Some parts were simply sad, but others were salacious. They were, as he said, worthy of being recreated as a made-for-tv movie.
“Worthy.”
Worthy?
His story included plot twists that WERE preposterous (but I do not doubt, real), and criminal activity of which he was clearly a genuine victim.
And his story also included choices – made by him – that were retaliatory, manipulative, dishonest, unkind and even cruel.
His story included a specific lie, a specific act, that caused harm, intentional harm, to another person who was also a victim. A different kind of victim, but also a victim.
But he did not care. He couldn’t see that. He hadn’t seen that. He had only seen his opportunity for revenge.
His story could be made into a TV movie. It does have all the plot twists, the intrigue, the salacious details that a script like that might need.
What it didn’t have was any wisdom, any message of growth, any redeeming value.
It was lacking,
because he was lacking,
for now.
Both of these men made a casual invitation to me. Both remarked about the fact that it could, perhaps, be possible to collaborate together on writing their stories.
And I was struck by HOW DIFFERENT their stories were, because of how different THEY currently are.
Currently.
Because each new day contains the opportunity for growth for each and all of us.
The first man’s story contained so much Grace. He was somehow, extraordinarily, able to tell it to me, with clarity and calm. He could describe the truly shocking details without hostility, but with compassion.
He could share so honestly, the moments in which he had been confronted with a truly difficult choice, and had responded with integrity.
He had, I heard, been presented so many invitations to temptation, but had chosen well, in the moments and also in the aftermath.
His, is a story worth telling.
His story is one I would be willing to help tell.