Tell Me Your Story

Everyone has one.

I've been thinking about four simple words lately.

Tell me your story.

The older I get, the more I'm convinced those four words have the power to change relationships. Before we know someone's story, we tend to see labels. We see occupations, political views, successes, failures, and sometimes even denominations. But when someone begins sharing their story, those labels slowly lose their importance. Stories have a way of accomplishing what arguments never can.

My friend Tom taught me that.

I've been thinking about him a lot lately. There probably isn't a week that goes by that I don't think about him at least once. As I've reflected on our friendship, I've found myself asking why it became so meaningful.

Tom was a Baptist elder. I'm an elder in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We certainly didn't agree on everything, but I honestly can't remember spending much time trying to convince each other of anything. Looking back, I think we were far more interested in understanding each other than proving ourselves right.

Over the years, we'd spend hours talking about the gospel. When Tom was preparing a sermon, he'd call and ask, "Jeff, what do Latter-day Saints believe about this?" He wasn't looking for an argument. He genuinely wanted to understand. Sometimes I'd watch one of his sermons and smile because I recognized something we'd talked about together. I loved listening to Tom preach.

He returned the favor. Tom watched many of my talks, and there were times I'd share something that had grown out of one of our conversations. We learned from each other, encouraged each other, and, without realizing it at the time, helped one another become better disciples of Jesus Christ.

Every once in a while, someone would ask Tom, "Why do you spend so much time with that Mormon?"

I always loved his response.

"Why don't you ever ask Jeff why he's hanging out with that Baptist?"

That was Tom. He had a way of gently reminding people that friendship isn't built on labels. Somewhere along the way, we had stopped seeing each other as a Baptist and a Latter-day Saint. We were simply two friends who loved the Savior and enjoyed helping each other draw a little closer to Him.

One day I told Tom something I'd been carrying around for quite a while. I told him there was something about his relationship with Jesus Christ that I admired. It wasn't his knowledge of the scriptures or his ability to preach. It was something much harder to describe. The best way I've ever been able to say it is this: Tom and Christ were friends, and I wanted that for me as well.

I expected Tom to thank me.

Instead, he smiled and quietly told me he'd been thinking the very same thing about me.

I've thought about that conversation many times since. Here were two friends from different faith traditions, each seeing something in the other's relationship with the Savior that made him want to become a better disciple himself. Neither of us wanted to become the other. We simply wanted to become more like Christ, and somehow God used our friendship to help us do just that.

When Kathy Lee and I flew out to see Tom after we learned his cancer had returned, we both knew it would probably be our last visit together. As soon as we saw each other, Tom looked at me and said, "My brother in Christ." We embraced and cried. Looking back, I don't remember much of what we talked about that weekend, but I'll never forget those four words.

I've wondered since then how many friendships never become what they could because we never get past the labels. We decide too quickly who someone is before we've ever taken the time to hear their story.

Maybe that's one of the reasons I enjoy asking people about their lives. Every person has a story. Every story has shaped the person sitting in front of us. And every once in a while, if we're willing to listen, we discover that someone we thought was different from us becomes a trusted friend…or even a brother.

One of the many gifts Tom gave me was a genuine curiosity about people. Over the years, I've found myself becoming less interested in first impressions and more interested in people's stories. Every person I meet has lived a life I know nothing about. They've experienced joys and disappointments, victories and heartaches, moments that shaped who they are. Most of those things remain hidden unless someone takes the time to ask. I've discovered that I enjoy hearing those stories. It's amazing how many assumptions disappear once we hear someone's story.

Last weekend, Kathy Lee and I were reminded of that once again while eating breakfast at a little restaurant in Coeur d'Alene.

Before leaving for Coeur d'Alene, someone told Kathy Lee, "If you have breakfast at only one place, make it Jimmy's Down the Street."

We took their advice.

Before we even found a table, Jimmy welcomed us. It wasn't the kind of greeting you expect when you walk into a restaurant. It felt more like arriving at someone's home, where the host was genuinely glad you had come.

As we settled into our seats, I picked up the menu. When I turned it over, I found something I wasn't expecting. The back of the menu wasn't filled with advertisements. It told the story of Jimmy, his wife Anna, and their daughter Patty, and I found myself reading every word.

As I read, I found myself thinking about Tom. Tom had taught me that every person has a story worth hearing if we're willing to take the time to ask. Sitting there, I realized this family wasn't just serving breakfast. They were inviting every customer to know them.

Their cinnamon rolls are amazing!

Before we left, I asked Jimmy if we could have our picture taken together.

As we were getting ready to leave, I noticed an employee wearing a T-shirt that read, "Food Is More Fun With Friends." I smiled because I realized that wasn't just a slogan. It described what Kathy Lee and I had experienced that morning.

Food is more fun with friends, and one of the ways strangers become friends is by taking the time to hear each other's stories.

Bryan and I first met years ago when our kids were in high school together. We knew each other, but it wasn't until years later that we really became friends.

Years later, Bryan and Tracie moved into our ward. Tracie and Kathy Lee ended up serving together, and Bryan and I found ourselves serving together as well. Before long, a casual acquaintance had become a close friendship.

One of the things I've come to appreciate most about Bryan is his genuine curiosity about people. Whether we're traveling, playing golf, or simply sitting together, he enjoys hearing people's stories every bit as much as I do.

Our daughter-in-law is a tattoo artist. Before getting to know her, I never gave much thought to tattoos. But through her, I've learned something I never expected.

Most tattoos have a story.

Since then, whenever I notice someone's tattoo, I'll often ask, "Tell me about your tattoo." More often than not, it opens the door to a fascinating conversation. I've learned that tattoos often commemorate someone they loved, a difficult season they survived, an important milestone, or a deeply held belief.

Every once in a while someone simply smiles and says, "That's private." I respect that. Not every story is meant to be shared.

Once again, I've been reminded that behind what we see on the outside is a story we know nothing about until someone chooses to share it.

I keep coming back to these two chairs. Somehow, I can almost see Tom sitting in one and me in the other.

As I've reflected on all of these experiences, I've realized they all trace back to one lesson Tom taught me many years ago. Every person has a story worth hearing if we're willing to take the time to ask.

One of the greatest gifts we can give another person is our willingness to sit for a while, listen without hurrying, and simply say, "Tell me your story."