Soon after our six-year-old granddaughter, Megan, arrives for a visit, she invariably snuggles beside me and says, “Pawpaw, tell me a story.” When she began that ritual a couple of years ago, I tried to come up with imaginative stories that would interest and entertain her. Running short of imagination, I turned to stories of my own childhood or her mother’s childhood. Those are the stories she remembers and repeats to her friends, often adding her own twists and interpretations.

Recalling and telling stories from my past, particularly those from my childhood, has provided more than just entertainment for grandchildren. Those stories have added to my own self-understanding, kindled gratitude and hope, motivated confession and assured forgiveness, intertwined my life more deeply with my grandchildren, deepened my sense of life’s mystery, and heightened my awareness of the lavish Grace in which we live and move and have our being.

Living consists of participating in, creating, and sharing stories. Our lives represent the unfolding of a series of narratives, and we are bound together in...