As a facilitator of groups, I've grown used to feeling something between curious and amused when an emcee stands up to introduce me. I usually learn something from these stage-setters who range from commanders to comedians. Mostly I tend to hear these words about me: counselor, consultant, writer, theologian and storyteller. All true, but it's that last one that means the most to me spiritually.

I am, with intention, a storyteller and story witnesser. In stories I find the clearest junction of my spirituality, my relationships and my skills as a therapist and communicator. Stories reflect two core convictions which you may share: First, that daily human experience was never meant to keep its distance from sacred spirituality. And second, that growth and healing happen as we find better connection within ourselves, with others, with the earth and with Creator- God. At my junction, these two articles of faith are as true theologically as they are psychologically.

Where daily human experience and better connections come together, there's nearly always a story-and a spiritual learning moment. In Gloria Steinem's Revolution from Within, she writes, "...a storyteller is magic but a teller of facts is not...There is a reason why parables are the oldest form of teaching: They work."

Jesus was not a theologian, I think he was Creator-God telling stories. When he taught in parables he began with scenes from the familiar stuff of life: business, farming, relationships and family. His parables were not fantasies or fables (no monsters or talking animals), nor were they allegories where every little bit held meaning. The stories were simple-one truth taught at two levels. And they were spoken to people who were hungry and thirsty for more life. His parables held little meaning for the self- righteous and stagnant.

Not long ago, my five-year-old niece Sophie, presented me and the rest of her family with a parable. She was spending the day with her adoring grandparents, but all day long she'd been acting, well, out. Or as my family would name it, she'd been a real stinker. At dinner, Sophie looked at her plate, and evidently disappointed with what she saw there, she began to sing to the tune of Jesus Loves Me, "Damn-Damn-Damn-Damn, Damn-Damn-Damn..."

Her grandmother, my mother, is a gentle woman. She looked Sophie in the eye. Sophie looked back, "Damn-Damn- Damn-Damn, Damn-Damn-Damn..." My mother wondered aloud what laughing out loud would do to her command of the situation. Then she bent down, got close and asked, "Sophie. What am I going to do with you?"

Sophie stopped singing, looked up, stuck out her chin and suggested "You could hug me real tight." Sophie had already figured out one of the Big Rules of Life. She needed better connections before, and maybe even instead of, correction or discipline. Change would follow.

As ABS practitioners, we have something in common with Jesus: our work is with flesh and blood events, with encounters that happen in time and space. No matter how elaborate our theories or theologies, for better or worse, we're surrounded by stories where humanity and spirituality and relationship all meet.

Sophie's parable describes my junction: It's the place where my human awareness and congruence grow with my skills, and with my connections. It's also the place where I am most likely to enjoy the personal presence of the vast, eternal Affection who is my creator. I think God gets bored with anything less.