StartStories
Stories about STARTers!
A New Revolution Begins
It began with one single, powerfully awesome word. START. And the call was heard by a band of trusted souls, ones who had walked the road and seen the power of community. Ones who had witnessed fear taken down like a dragon with an excalibre. Because there be dragons out there. And the trusted souls wanted new voyagers to feel confident with machete and passport in-hand and an adventure of epic proportions ahead. And so they got to work, hammering and chiseling and crafting a place where stories were told. There was a language school full of #STARTjargon, a map to every room in the #STARTexp, and tale upon tale of the legends of the community. The trusted souls called themselves the Midwives of the START Revolution, and they were founded on one principle: “To surrender to something that is bigger than you, has always been bigger than you, will always be bigger than you.” ~Jon Acuff because every movement needs revolutionaries to ensure its survival… The Midwives were many, and each served a role in the creation of FrankenSTART. There were storytellers and technicians, imagemakers and mastercrafters. And there were the ones who stood and cheered for all that was happening – and was to come. The ones who led knew they were serving a greater good. The ones who stayed knew they were seeing history being changed. There was a story to share with the world. YOURS. And even when things turned all about, and those in the community became Dreamers & Builders, the greater good remained. And the world learned of the community. It truly did become a revolution. And now, it’s time for a new revolution to begin. Yours. The Midwives of the START Revolution encourage you to dream, to build, to find your hustle and change this world for the better. We have been honored to be part of the creation and life of FrankenSTART, and even more honored to have been able to serve you well. FrankenSTART remains as a monument to those who said “yes” to adventure, who came as strangers and remained as friends and learned the importance of community. It reminds us all that we are altogether powerful when we are all together. And when we punch fear in the face, we are awesome. Love and Grace, Ronne Rock, Tammy Helfrich, Corie Clark and Randy Langley The Leaders of the Midwives The Midwives of the START Revolution are: Amber Arbo Todd Bickle May Bohon Emily Carlton Shane Conrad David Dollar Anna Floit Kim Fortenberry Melissa Hawks Jennifer Kaufman Teri Mo Libby Norcross Cherisse Redmond Jim Shields Alexandra Veintidos Ryan Westbrooks Jay...
Read MoreThe Sound of Courage
The Sound of Courage by Liz Clark There were sounds I didn’t want to hear. The sound the shovel made as it pierced the soil. The pause that followed. The almost-silent sound of dirt piling up beside the neatly dug hole. When the sounds were done, the thing that consumed my mind that day, despite the stubborn sunshine, was the hole that remained. Others call it a grave. I watched him dig the hole. I listened to the sounds. I shouldn’t have been there, listening, but I was. The hole didn’t belong to me or my family. It was dug for a stranger. Yet, the loss I felt was so profound. The woman who raised me had died nearly two years before in an awful and tragic way. And there was no funeral. She was cremated, and we were confused. Because she wasn’t supposed to die. The memorial services were rushed and awkward. She was so loved and had made herself home to so many people. There were services in 3 different states, in borrowed churches, and people who only knew her through her laugh and her lasagna. And it was nice for them to talk about her like she was the nice lady they once knew. But they didn’t understand. They didn’t really understand that she was alive and active and wonderful, and then she got into the backseat of a car on her way to her sister’s funeral. Only she never made it. Instead of her sister’s funeral, she met with her own tragedy that day: a car accident, 12 weeks in ICU and then her death. And they also didn’t seem to understand that she was my rock. And she wasn’t supposed to die like that. But she did. So I found myself at a cemetery nearly two years later. To reflect on life, I suppose. I came across a gravedigger and, for some reason, I stopped and pretended to pay respects to a stranger named Smyth and made myself listen to the sound of the shovel and the dirt. It’s morbid, I know, but I needed it somehow. Standing there in front of a stranger’s grave, an emotion swept over me that I haven’t been able to define. I suddenly had incredible clarity. All at once, I understood what she meant when she told me all of those times growing up, “I just want you to be happy.” She didn’t mean “happy” in the shallow, fun-loving kind of way. She meant happy. Fulfilled. At peace. At rest. Full of life and excited. She wanted me to be who I was designed to be. And I realized as I listened to the sound of the dirt that I was not happy. In many ways, I was dead inside; and not just because of her death. I realized that I had made choices to believe certain things about life and work and the possibility of happiness. Inside my mind’s eye, the truth began to play out in front of me. It was as if, years ago, a figurative gravedigger had said to me, “Your dreams aren’t good enough. In fact, they’re dead. But I can help you get them out of your head so you can go about your life. You’re lucky – you’ve got good solid skills. Stick with those. They are safe. Dreams are dangerous.” And he graciously dug while I wrestled my hopes and dreams into a coffin and waited for him to finish the job. And the sound of that shoveling had been somehow echoing in my soul for years, long before her tragic death. When that gravedigger in my mind had finished, he turned to me and said, “You’re safe now. Stick with what you know and you’ll be fine.” I thanked him and glanced down at the name on his uniform shirt. I couldn’t quite make it out, but it looked like it read: FEAR. I stood there in that cemetery, stunned at this realization, hot tears racing down my face. My dreams were dead and done, but...
Read MoreFinding My Way in the Dark
by Ronei Hardin as told to Teri Modisette My name is Ronei, and this is one of the darkest hours of my life. It’s very hard for for me to say, but I’m losing my husband. This is my life now–I go to my first job and teach high school English all day. Then I go to my second job. When I’m done there, it’s back to the hospital to be with my husband, Sam. We are introverts as individuals and as a couple. What I have is special, so I’m cautious, protective of my family, and deeply private. Sam worked in the stage lighting and production industry for several popular country music and popular touring artists. He was in the middle of programming Toby Keith’s lighting exactly one week before our daughter’s high school graduation on May 25. That meant Sam would get to go with me, see our daughter graduate, and hear her commencement speech. He finished Toby Keith’s rehearsal schedule the day before graduation. When he came home, I knew something was very wrong. His whole body was a terrifying, glowing, zombie yellow–so yellow he scared his co-workers. I said, “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” He insisted that he wouldn’t go to the hospital until he watched our daughter graduate and heard her commencement speech. I was adamant that he go to the hospital immediately. Neither of us would budge, so we struck a compromise: he’d go to graduation if I could take him straight to the E.R. afterward. We went to graduation, she delivered her speech, and we left as soon as it was over. We spent the next six days in critical care. The test results said hepatocellular carcinoma: liver cancer. Sam has faced cancer twice before and kicked it in the teeth, but the doctors are very clear: the calendar is our enemy. At five months into his 12-month best-case scenario, we are regularly in and out of hospitals. I joined Round 2 of the Start Experiment because I knew it would give me a chance to be part of someone else’s story. I wanted to keep pouring into people the things I have to offer. I needed to know I wasn’t the only one walking through the darkest hour of my life. While everyone in the Experiment was talking about whether they were going to the Start Conference, I sat in the area of Vanderbilt hospital reserved for family members of those having serious surgery. There were moms crying because their kids’ lives hung in the balance. Grandchildren weeping because grandpa had had a heart attack. I was surrounded by high-level drama and to top it all off, the START Conference was literally going to happen right down the street from my second job. All that happiness and inspiration, right down the street. I sat in that waiting room and thought, “I can’t listen to this.” I was crying and thinking, “Why is this happening to me?” I put on my headphones, got my laptop, and found a corner. I was at the end of my hope. I remember telling God, “When Sam goes, please take me too.” At that point, I didn’t care anymore. At first, I didn’t have it in me to say anything about my situation, but sitting in that waiting room, I thought, “Crap. I need to say something. I have to write something to help me lay this all down and let it go.” I logged into my blog–which was full of tumbleweeds and dust bunnies at that point–and started drafting a post. Actually, it was my “Dear Jon” letter. I was scared the letter would come off as a whine letter when I was honestly trying to be funny. You see, if I can find the funny in any given situation, that’s when God shows up for me. He knows my sense of humor and that’s how He comforts and supports me. I posted the letter. Then I put the link in the Start Experiment with the headline, “Here goes nothing.” I burst into tears,...
Read MoreHanding you the microphone
#STARTConf 2013 just finished. You saw the Facebook posts. You saw the Tweets. And even though you were not physically there, you were there in spirit. Today, we’d love to give you an opportunity to share what your biggest impacting statements were from watching the conference online through your #STARTExp friends. We’ve heard stories from people who were there. But now we want to hear the story that impacted you. Yes, we want to hear from those of you who were NOT at the START Conference. Did a particular photo resonate with you? Or a quote? Or a text from someone who was there? Share in the comments below....
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