Where the story went
Last night I listened to a story about a king with a small kingdom. He was not a rich king, so he went from village to village visiting his peoples….
At this point I was wanting the story to take off from there, for I heard an echo of my own story. Although I followed along, tagging behind the story he was telling, I was also standing at the junction, wanting to follow the other one.
Here is where it went: In each village, the kindly king met with his people and listened to their stories and their thoughts and their cares. He had little he could offer other than his presence, his listening, his hearing. He had no gold coins, no silver bullets, no wisdom-solving-all. But his love, O his hearing! This did wonders. He told them what people were doing in other villages. He asked them for advice for the others. He encouraged them to try their own ideas, for he was only their common kin, not a ruler, as his title relayed.
So the people were grand. They grasped their world and worked it, molding it as they saw best. Each village was a little different, and each learned from the others. There was no violence in the kingdom, but conflict and tempers! O but were there lots of those. People contended mightily with one another, in their villages and with other villages! Large was their contention, but larger was their cooperation. They were not wealthy, but they were sure prosperous. Widows and orphans, the slow and differently abled were all welcomed and cared for, and each had what he or she needed—and each was part of the community and part of the con-tending.
All because one of their kin took seriously the work of hearing others. O to be that kin!
:- Doug.
