it would not give up but grow to feed another goat on another day. In fact, as you watch it—though
it may be too subtle to see—it continues to grow before your eyes. It, in turn, will cast a seed, per-
haps like storytellers do, that will grow into another blade to continue not only its own life but the
life it gives to my goats and the life they, in turn, give to my family.”
The storyteller looked at the blade as if, though he had been staring at it before, he now saw it
for the first time.
“What else do you see?” she asked.
The storyteller lifted his head to see in front of him a long-horned goat whose old yellow eyes
looked curiously into his own. “Nothing but this scrawny old goat,” he said.
“Even this scrawny old goat has a story to tell. She was the first one my poor parents worked
hard, and saved carefully, to buy. She has produced most of this herd that you see now, yet her life has
not been easy. She has fought bravely against foxes but still has seen some of her kids stolen and eaten.
She has lived through droughts when others animals were dying. She has freely shared her milk with
us to drink, sell, and use to make cheese, becoming as close a friend to our family as any human. With
thanks to her, we—and she—can now live comfortably.
“And what are you feeling?” asked the young goatherd, again seeming to change the subject.
“Eh, nothing,” responded the storyteller a little less confidently, at first sure he felt nothing ex-
cept his sadness but then wondering if he could feel the firmness of the rock on which he sat. Might
the rock have a story to tell of strength, stability, and endurance?he found himself asking. If he thought about
it, perhaps he could feel the warmth of the summer sun. Might the sun have its story of nurturing, of bring-
ing light into darkness, or of giving life to the planet?Ye s, he could feel the caress of the breeze. What a
mischievous tale of fickle moods the wind could weave with its gentle power to assist boats across oceans and its
howling hurricanes that destroy homes. What could it tell of balancing moods, being responsible for actions, or do-
ing good instead of evil?
The girl saw from the look in the storyteller’s eyes that she needn’t ask any more questions. Wav-
ing her arms in a big circle that seemed to encompass the whole of the universe, she said, “Every-
thing, everyone, has their own story.”
My story of today began in a valley of despair, thought the storyteller, looking down the hill. I tra-
versed new territory, climbing steep slopes and outcrops of rocks, seeking solitude, only to find a pupil who helped
me to open my eyes and stand on a summit of hope.
Looking toward the young goatherd, the storyteller asked, “Will you continue to be my
teacher?”
278 Creating Your Own Healing Stories for Kids