Tell me the old, old story...

When I was a kid, we'd sometimes sing a hymn that included that line -- the whole idea was that we were asking (in song, of course) to be told the old old story, but of course, then we'd have to remind (God?) what story we were talking about.

Kind of like in Surf II, where Chuck and Bob are in the shack with the "wenches" and one of the guys is telling the story about when he was tubed, man, totally tubed, and some idiot drops in right in front of him. "What happened?" "You were there, dude!" "I know, I just love to hear you tell it!"

Or like John Lee Hooker (or George Thorogood) saying, "Lemme tell you a story about the house rent blues..."

My sister and I get together and we always end up talking about people we knew and things we did. We tell old camp stories (like when I had a crush on possibly the least intelligent girl in the whole camp), we tell old school stories (like when we would go skipping through the high school halls at 6:45 am just to tick off certain teachers), we tell old church stories (like about Hot Rod the Bod's sunday school lessons about sports and about Chuck and how many times he'd say "Father" in his prayers, and "Who are you? Get off my roof" and so forth.

But to me there's just something to telling the old stories. I'll tell you soccer stories until I'm blue in the face (and you're asleep). I'll tell you about Russia and how God used me there. I'll tell you about this friend I had in college (or a psycho girlfriend or two). That's how you can get to know me; through story. And that's how I get to know God -- through His story. Part of his story is stuff I've lived. Part is stuff my mom lived. But a whole lot is stuff other people lived, people I'd never have had a chance to meet were it not for story. Story that was preserved through an oral tradition through to the time it was written in book form, or, for you keeping score at home, in Bible form.

I'm glad to hear the old old story. Now, then, did I ever tell you about the time...