Two days after the wedding celebration of a former roommate, my heart is still glowing from time with friends.

For a sliver of our lives, we were together, intricately so. Together in the same season of life, together in the same town and the same apartment complexes, at the same dinner tables and Saturday night parties. We packed ourselves into each other’s time so fully that we practically climbed on top of one another, impossible to be seperated for any real length of time.

These days, we’re impressively spread out – like push pins on a map. We call and leave voicemails, Skype and mail notes and occasionally, when we’re blessed with the opportunity, for just a tiny sliver of time we find ourselves back in the same room, at the same dinner table, and of course, on the same dance floor. Sunday night was one of those times – and I’m still glowing from all its fire and light.

Yesterday, I was trying to pinpoint what exactly it was that made me feel so full from the night before. Definitely, part of it is tapping back into the love we’ve built over years of friendship, but it’s something more than that…

I’ve decided, it’s the stories we shared that made the difference.

Stories shared over dinner and wine, in the sticky heat of an August night and late at night under hotel bed covers. Stories that tell one another where we are and how God is moving and breathing into our lives. Stories that describe the people and places that now fill our time and where we think our lives are headed, what we want to do and who we want be.

I think that sometimes, it’s easier to see God working in another’s life than it is to see Him in your own. And hearing how God is working in another person’s life – hearing that truth – it acts like a fire, bringing light to your own life. That’s what I felt yesterday and still today, when I think about Sunday night. And that’s why I deeply, earnestly, completely believe that stories are important. Your stories, my stories – all of them – because God is there in them and continues to breathe life into and through their tellers, straight into the hearts and lives of those who hear them.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t write them down and publish them for the world, make a movie about them or write a song to sing to the crowd. You don’t ever have to tell your stories in any those ways to get them out. In fact, the greatest stage for our stories, I believe, is our conversations. Simple, honest ones around a table, huddled by a fire, in a coffee shop or on the living room floor. It doesn’t matter where or how, it only matters that you tell them. They hold strength and weight. They speak life. It matters that you share them, because sometimes – though you’ll probably never know when – sometimes, they make all the difference in the world.