Through stories I’ve written, folktales of old and true-life stories, I dip down into the Truth of life for my listeners. I confront, in a non-threatening way, relationships, beauty, worry, our gifts and talents, forgiveness, healing, the foolishness of life, God’s constant presence. Through storytelling, I offer the listener a face-to-face, ear-to-ear, heart-to-heart opportunity to be still and hear what needs to be heard.

I began storytelling in 1982 while working as an assistant dean at a small Christian college in California. I found that if I had a story when I taught and it specifically related to the teaching, a disinterested student could become a listener and a learner in that moment. I can remember my first story’s telling, “The King Who Waits,” as if it were yesterday. Many students crammed into a lobby area of a dorm and listened to a very personal first-person story about a God—a God who wanted them, loved them, and lavishly prepared a place to be with them and was waiting for them. Weeks later, several students shared their thoughts on the story with me and of how they now had a place where they met God every day. That amazed me and I discovered one of the values of storytelling—shelf life. Stories, like good friends, hang around.

I believe God has given me a sensitivity to the broken and bruised, the naïve and young, the hopeful and disheartened. My stories come from my observances of life, dialogue with family and friends, my church involvement, personal discoveries and the stuff of life—growing up in an alcoholic family, infertility, adoption, several miscarriages and a miracle or two. My undergraduate studies in social work, graduate work in social science, work experience with young adults and troubled adolescents, along with my own personal background have provided the foundation for my storytelling. And then there’s everyday life…

Powerful things happen when a story leaves the lips of a faithful teller and reaches the listener’s ears. The first sign of it is physical—crossed arms unfold, stern and serious adult faces soften to a child-like quality and children sit almost unmoving. I seldom know exactly what happened for that listener that connected so deeply, but I know something wonderful took place in that story moment. And that is the power of Story—its potential for change, renewal and understanding is an awesome responsibility and honor for the teller.

I will never tire of what happens when you and I meet in the middle of a story. Never. Whether story takes me to church, a classroom, a convention, a family room, or the rails on the side of a hospital bed, it will be my privilege to share in this intimate community created with a Story.

I look forward to sharing a Story with you… Melea