But here’s the thing: I like telling my stories. It feels like I’m doing something about it. When I leave, the concrete in my chest has loosened, melted down so I can breathe for a few days. –Minny Jackson in “The Help” by Kathryn Stockett
I get the feeling “The Help” is going to be on my mental list of all-time favorite books for a long time. I remember reading it last August and not wanting it to end, even though I couldn’t stop reading it.
The story is good and the characters are even better. Stockett did an amazing job of having the different narrators, who come from different socioeconomic status and races, alternate telling the story. Yet the story had continuity that seems it would be hard to achieve.
I passed my copy of the book around to four friends. And the five of us went to see the movie version of the story on Saturday. My love of the book lowered my movie expectations some. I assumed the movie couldn’t live up to the book. But, you know, I have to say, it was close. The movie stayed close to the book, and, in this case, that’s a good thing.
I’m thankful I shared the movie-going experience with four of my closest friends. And I’m even more grateful for our friendships, which are made up of story after story. I’m reminded of another movie I’ve watched recently. In “The Bucket List,” Edward (played by Jack Nicholson) says, “Just because I told you my story doesn’t invite you into it.” I tend to disagree. I’ve invited these friends — and others — into my life because living in community is my favorite way to live life. Sometimes it’s complicated, but it’s mostly full … of life, love, much laughter, good food and strength that comes in numbers. We got here together by living out our stories. And, really, it’s easier to breathe because of them.
“The Help” is an awesome reminder that someone can make a difference, befriend the unlikeliest of people, and tell a story that’s worth telling — and, more importantly, living — along the way.
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