Life Stories are Hope Stories

I was trying to decide how to present my writing about hope when I happened upon the TV show “Tribal Trails”. A young woman, whose name I missed, was talking about how they take their life stories to the youth of reservations in Canada and the USA. She called them “Hope Stories.”

“Hope Stories” Yes! Life stories are hope stories.

When we share what we’ve gone through. When we share what we have learned. When we shared how we've survived. These are hope stories for another.

Many times we hesitate to share them because we are afraid of what someone will think. More often than not people are encouraged when we share. Things in our story may resonate with them. They no longer feel so alone. They hear something that may help them to move forward. They are encouraged.

I remember when I first went to a healing group here in my hometown. It was scary to walk in and to identify myself as one of them. But in the end it was liberating. It was freeing to hear others share their stories because I recognized myself in them. This lifted the feeling of isolation and shame. Others had been there. Others felt the same thing given the same situation. I was no longer alone.

One of the life stories that gave me the greatest hope while I was healing was Jesus’. I held on to the verse that said, “For the joy set before Him He endured the shame of the cross.” He endured shame.

There were stages of my healing that were incredibly messy. Extremely humbling…I’d probably even say humiliating. Times where there was much room to be misunderstood and I was misunderstood. I knew though that if I wanted to get well, emotionally and spiritually, I had to go ‘there’. I knew that ‘joy comes in the morning'.’ It might be dark for awhile. It might get confusing. But I had to persevere.

I held onto Jesus, my hope and my salvation. He endured the shame, a much greater shame than anything that I was experiencing, so I could too.

I also gained hope from the written stories of others who had gone through similar things as I had. I’m very glad that they shared their stories so that in hearing them mine could be ‘normalized.’ It gave me understanding and knowledge that helped me believe that I could make it through. Their stories were hope stories.

After awhile, once I was strong enough emotionally and spiritually, I began to share my story with others. To share about our deepest wounds too soon can be counterproductive so I was careful who I shared with initially. Then the audience became larger and larger. Today, the basics of my story are up on the world wide web.

The basics are on the web because I currently contract my services to a website where all of us working at this site share a bit of our story. The individuals who come to us for coaching/counselling feel hope when they see that we’ve been there. If we’ve come through it then there is the hope that they will as well. I confess that I felt quite vulnerable at the thought of having it there for all to see. But it is part of who I am. It is part of what makes me me. And if my story can give others hope then I am willing to share it where it is needed.

Occasionally, someone who feels no hope comes to me. They don’t believe that they will ever get past whatever it is that is holding them back, or that they will never heal from the depression that currently has them in it’s grip. I ask them if I can lend them my hope until they find their own. If they say yes then I share this poem with them:

BORROWED HOPE

Lend me your hope for awhile.

I seem to have mislaid mine.

Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily.

Pain and confusion are my companions.

I know not where to turn.

Looking ahead to the future times

does not bring forth images of

renewed hope.

I see mirthless times, pain

filled days,

and more tragedy.

Lend me your hope for awhile,

I seem to have mislaid mine.

Hold my hand and hug me;

listen to all my ramblings.

I need to unleash the pain and let it tumble out.

Recovery seems so far

distant;

the road to healing a long and lonely one.

Stand by me; offer me your presence.

Your ears and your love

acknowledge my pain. It is so real and ever present.

I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts.

Lend me your hope for awhile,

A time

will come when I will heal

and I will lend my renewed hope to others.

Eloise Cole

Life Stories are Hope Stories. I’m thankful for the stories that are shared in the Bible. I’m glad for those who shared their stories during my healing. Whenever appropriate and with appropriate detail I will share my Life Story to bring hope to those who are open to hearing. I hope you will too. You never know who needs to hear exactly what you have to share.

Stories last forever. Only if you write them down.

Mr. H, the father of a long time friend, prepared a delicious breakfast for us this morning. It’s a standing tradition that the adult children and grand children are welcome to come on Saturdays. Mr. H. was bringing out photo albums and telling us stories of the past. Some went to the living room after they’d gobbled down their food, while the rest of us stayed to converse with him.

At one point, while Mr. H was talking about something that happened in the 30’s, his son came back into the room. When he heard the discussion he turned around and said, “Call me back in when you get to the 70’s”. Everyone laughed. Apparently Mr. H tells his stories often and repeatedly. My friend and I talked afterwards about how others who’ve lost their parents wish they were still there to repeat the story one…more…time.

In the past couple of years I’ve made it my goal not only to be patient in hearing them but also to write them down for posterity. While my mom is still on this earth, I can talk to her to get every detail of the story written down as she recalls it. She has difficulty with her speech now and tires easily which means it’s slow going. A few things she’s written down for me.

My dad died of a massive heart attack just at the point where I was ready to ask him about his childhood, about his growing up years. I had a list of questions ready. He was a man of few words so he may not have volunteered much information. But I will never know.

Someone on Facebook just shared a post that said: “They say stories last forever. But that’s only if you write them down.”

There are stories that my maternal grandfather told years ago when I was in my teens that I wish I would have written down. I wish I had asked him many more questions. He felt that we would not want to hear the stories of an old fool but I loved his reminiscences. He’s been gone many years now but I still vividly recall the day he sat at the end of the picnic table in the park sharing his memories.

One of my mom’s brothers did a genealogy of both my grandfather and grandmother’s sides of the family going back to the generation that left Russia to come to Canada. These are thick volumes partially because the Mennonites had large families but also because many of those living today sent him a synopsis of themselves to put in print along with a photo. Thus we know the overview. But not the personal stories, the hardships and what was learned, the joys shared.

So,yes,we hear our parents tell their stories over and over. Those of us that are baby boomers are much more tolerant of this these days since we ourselves are becoming more repetitive in our own stories. Let them tell their stories. Encourage them. Write them down. Your children may be young, showing no interest at this point. One day they will want to know.

Stories last forever only if you write them down. I’m working on it! How about you?

No cheese or baked goods have ever been baptized into a Mennonite church

Isn’t it amazing how many memories are attached to the foods that we eat or have eaten? I love how a recipe or a photo or a conversation about a certain food brings back fond memories of childhood Christmases at my grandparents. Or memories of family gatherings. Or...

Yesterday local ladies were interviewed on Global News. Mennonite Girls Can cook blogspot has now had 2 million hits and they’ve recently published a cookbook. They are now posting recipes from various cultures but they started out posting traditional Mennonite recipes for posterity. I would venture to guess that part of what has drawn so many people to this blog is the same thing that draws me back again and again: nostalgia and an attempt to keep the memories alive by cooking those things of yesteryear.

For those of you who are thinking, "But I thought that Mennonite was a religion." let me explain the background a little. In one of my first blogs at this site, I wrote about my own cultural background and the importance of the stories of our lives. The memories that these foods evoke are part of my story...and perhaps yours as well. While I have not worshiped in a Mennonite church for many a year, my cultural background remains Mennonite. This differentiation can be confusing for some but suffice it to say that it has become both a religion and a culture. The Mennonite Historical Society of Canada has a rather humorous explanation :

Today…one can go to an area with a Mennonite population and see signs advertising "Mennonite baking," "Mennonite furniture," "Mennonite quilts," and even "Mennonite maple syrup!" To my knowledge, no syrup or baked goods have ever been baptized into a Mennonite church - they have never decided that "this is the church for them." In such cases the word "Mennonite" does not refer to a religious group, but rather to people of a certain ethnic and/or cultural background.

And I would hasten to add, ‘Mennonite Cheese’ to that for those from Mexico since Mennonites there have become quite well known for ‘Queso Menonitas’.

They may not have been baptized into the church but, at the risk of sounding irreverent, many a Mennonite food has been sprinkled, dunked and even immersed...chocolate sprinkles, dunked in coffee, immersed in gravy...and so on...



I have awesome memories of:

Apricot Suppsel: Picking apricots with my dear Leentjemum in her yard at Blumenort.

Cabbage Borscht! Christmas at Grandma and Grandpas as a child.

Bubbat! A great cousin gathering on one of my first visits to Mexico as an Adult.

Knackzoot (Spitz): Ohhhhhh, the memories with that one...that's a blog for the future I think...messy floors come to mind.


And that's just a start.

It's not as much about the food as the memories that they evoke of times with loved ones...and the stories that emerge... Thanks 'Mennonite Girls Can Cook' for this trip down memory lane!

Life Story: A Matter of Perspective...

Life as Story

Are you a reader? Perhaps a writer? Have you ever thought of your own life as an unfolding story? A story that is part of a greater story?

Dan Allender in his book to be told states that

“…everyone’s life is a story. But most people don’t know how to read their life in a way that reveals their story. They miss the deeper meaning of their life and they have little sense of how God has written their story in order to reveal himself and his own story.”

**unless otherwise noted, all quotes are from this book.


The Plot Begins…

“Both your plot and mine are formed in the circle of relationships into which we were born…including the age or unique situations at the time of our birth.”

So true. Much of my life and the directions it has taken are the result of where I was born and the culture that I was born into. You see I was born into a culture that lived a retro lifestyle if you will…in Mexico. The first 7 years of my life I spoke only a German dialect called Plautdietsch and I have happy memories of holidays and Sundays with extended family.


Avoiding my story…

“If you don’t like your story, then you must not like the Author…”

You may not be aware of this but there are numerous denominations and differing cultures within the Mennonite community…

When I started school in Canada, I quickly became aware of the fact that Mennonites from Mexico were considered the ‘black sheep’ of the Mennonite family. My brothers and I began to experience teasing, mocking and put downs about our backgrounds. Sadly, much of this came from other Mennonites. People made generic assumptions about our cultural background and insinuated various things. This continued into high school.

As soon I graduated high school I moved away from home, and unlike visible minorities who go through this sort of thing, I was able to hide from my background. Not only did I hide it for years, even from myself, but deep down I developed a hatred for this Mexican culture…because it was, after all, their fault that I’d experienced so much ostracizing and ridicule wasn’t it?

Jean Vanier says that fear lies "at the root of all forms of exclusion," and we exclude because we are frightened of "those who are different, those who challenge our authority, our certitudes, and our value system"



Becoming a Co-Author/Editor

“We are not wholly our own, nor are we exclusively the result of what happened to us. “

“We become a coauthor when we know our plot and choose to reengage the tragedies of our lives with new patterns, thereby developing new themes which mark who we are as coauthor of our lives and editors of our future! “

When I went to Seminary in the early 90’s, one of the college students was a cousin’s daughter from Mexico…a sharply dressed, beautiful young lady…breaking my stereotype of who these people were. She was my first direct connection with that culture in years and I ended up being her instructor in a college counseling course. Because of her, I began to pray that God would show me these people through His eyes and that He would help me love them with His love. I went down to Mexico for this young lady’s wedding and a vision for the future began to stir in my heart. It took a number of years, but in 2005 I moved there to work in the Mennonite colonies.

Respect begets Respect

“The manner by which we treat people in our personal and occupational lives reflects or denies the truth of our commitment to human dignity and respect for individual worth.”

quote from Dr. Haim Ginott (1956)

The Genre

“How would you tell the story of your life? As a comedy, a tragedy, an irony, or a transcendent drama.” Selwyn Hughes

“Trust that the Casting Director has given you a role that highlights not only your special talents and individuality but, more importantly, the way in which divine grace is at work in your life.” Selwyn Hughes

Depending on what point in my life you met me, you would have seen an attitude that spoke of my life as tragedy, and at the biggest points of denial, a comedy. A transcendent drama began to be realized when I was about 33 and it continues…I’ve come back from Mexico more at peace…feeling more whole. I have a new appreciation for the beginning of my story…the culture that laid the groundwork for the rest of the story. That part of me is no longer hidden and I have a great love and compassion for the people…I feel so privileged to have had a small part in their story…and hope to have again in the future.

Divine grace…I would not know God in the way that I do had I not gone through the things that I did in my life…and I would not have been able to touch the lives of those in Mexico had I not been someone who was trusted because I had ‘history’ with them…Yes, there are many sad stories, some shocking ones, but there are also many redemptive, creative ones.



~The End of the Story~

“The ending of our stories are how we lived them towards an aim, a finish that is worth both living for and dying for.”

“Our stories are meant to be given away to others for their benefit. “

Like any story, we sometimes don’t quite get where the Author is leading us until the very last chapter or page when things suddenly become clear. These past two and a half years my storyline was altered drastically and I still have little idea as to the purpose of these twists nor where the story will take me now.

But, I trust the Author and I know that the ending is a fantastic one! So, I do my part as Co-author in what I choose to do with….and how I react in….these unexpected twists and turns. With anticipation and curiosity as to what the next turn of the page will bring…and, honestly, sometimes holding my breath with a little fear…as one does in a suspenseful story…