best week/night of my life

Here:

We were cold. We were wet. We were miserable. We were a group of people with little in common; varying ages, interests, family ties ,and friend groups separated our assembly church familiarities. The one thing we did share was the fact that the nine of us had spent the last four days of our lives struggling to survive the wrath of the so-called “beautiful” Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota. Expecting sun, we were poured on. Expecting splendor, we were tormented. Expecting relaxation, we fought for our lives. Now we came together on our last night, huddled together, dependent both on each other and the struggling flicker of the firelight for warmth, ready to share our stories.

We told our common stories first. We told of capsizing and whitecaps. We cringed remembering our nights avoiding hypothermia in the freezing rain, drenched in our sleeping bags and for the first time appreciating the comfort of a good pb&j. We told of getting lost, being found, and of the joy brought by a five minute break in the bleak clouds that had been our constant companion throughout the week. We told of singing endless songs and playing pointless games to pass time. We told heroic stories of “Canoe Olympics” and crazy antics that had us laughing at the time and brought us near hysterics now. We told the stories that had brought us together over the week--accounts of the events that had transformed us from a group of nine acquaintances into a single unit of confidantes, bonded by the love that comes only through truly life-changing experiences.

Our tales slowly evolved from those of our week’s adventure to the epic of our lives. We told the stories that made us the people we are today. That night I heard stories and shared experiences that I could not have imagined these people were lugging around with them. Hardships and triumphs had fashioned the very being of my peers, and their testimonies were now shaping me. I now knew the fear of coming out of a coma and not recognizing the family around me. I now knew the heartache of being left forever by the one I loved. I now knew the joy welcoming a baby sister in the world. Years of struggle and exuberance were shared, and I grew not only in listening to those with me but by relaying my own experiences as well.

There is a certain fellowship that comes from story. There in the solace of the circle I knew these people trusted me. They trusted me not only to keep their confidence but to share my own. I knew in my soul that my stories were not falling on closed ears or deaf hearts. I felt the careful attention the circle shared, and there every trifling tidbit held value. The intimacy and simple appreciation of one another was tangible, and this was rooted in the fact that we were sharing freely of ourselves.

That night I learned the importance of story. There in my seven layers of cold and dripping clothing I felt the warmth that only story can bring. There surrounded by nothing but the vastness of nature and countless stars I felt that I was part of something bigger than myself, permanently linked to the world and people around me. That night we laughed until we cried, and we cried until we couldn’t help but laugh. That night everyone was important. Everyone had a story. And thanks to our week of shared misery and trials, we had new stories to share with the world.