What happens when we stop reducing people to numbers and start truly listening to their stories? This film offers an inspiring look at how stories can transform the evaluation of neighbourhood teams in Amsterdam. Instead of focusing only on statistics and reports, it explores what really matters in people’s daily lives: experiences, relationships, trust, struggles, and small moments of change that often remain invisible in traditional evaluations. For anyone interested in community work, social impact, participation, or meaningful evaluation, this film is deeply worth watching. It shows how story-based approaches can create richer understanding, stronger connections, and more humane ways of learning and improving together. Especially in complex neighbourhoods and social care settings, stories reveal nuances that numbers alone can never capture. This film demonstrates the power of listening — not just to collect information, but to genuinely understand people and communities. If you care about social change, neighbourhood support, or innovative evaluation methods, this film will give you fresh inspiration and practical insight. Watch the film and discover how stories can help communities learn, grow, and connect in a more human way. https://youtu.be/nmAkaK0PYfY

# PNI: three letters that permanently change the way you think about knowledge Some abbreviations come and go. Others stay with you — not because they are easy, but because they name something you already sensed but couldn’t quite articulate. PNI is that kind of abbreviation. Three letters. Three words. And if you take them seriously, three fundamentally different ways of thinking about research, about people, and about where knowledge actually lives. PNI stands for **Participatory Narrative Inquiry**. It was developed and pioneered by **Cynthia Kurtz**, whose groundbreaking work has shaped how researchers, organisations and communities around the world think about stories, participation and sense-making. Her book *Working with Stories* remains one of the most generous and rigorous contributions to the field — freely shared with the world, which in itself says something about her philosophy. Let’s walk through the three letters one by one. P — Participatory This is the heart of it. The letter everything else revolves around, and the letter that deserves the most space — not because the other two matter less, but because *participatory* is at once the most overused, most misunderstood and most promising word in the research world. And I’ll be honest: it is the letter that matters most to me personally. In most research approaches, knowledge sits with the researcher. The researcher designs the questions, defines the categories, interprets the answers and draws the conclusions. Participants are a source — valuable, certainly — but it is the researcher and their instruments that transform raw data into insight. The people being studied are, in a sense, the material. The researcher is the one who makes sense of it. Participatory Narrative Inquiry turns that around completely. In PNI, knowledge does not reside with the researcher. It resides with the people involved. They are not sources of data to be extracted and translated — they are carriers of meaning. The task of the researcher is not to mine that meaning, but to create a space in which it can become visible: to the participants themselves, and to the community they are part of.

Understanding organizational context requires an approach that captures both the richness of stories and the structure of quantitative data. The self-signified narrative method — where storytellers code their own stories through closed questions — offers a unique concurrent mixed method design that honors both depth and analytical rigor. Stories as Self-Coded Data Unlike traditional mixed methods where quantitative and qualitative data are collected through separate instruments, this approach integrates both within a single collection moment. After sharing their narrative, storytellers themselves answer closed questions about their own story. As Cynthia Kurtz explains in Working with Stories (2014), this self-signification process respects the storyteller’s interpretation while creating structured, analyzable data. The Method in Practice The concurrent collection works as follows: 1. Narrative elicitation — The storyteller shares their experience in their own words 2. Self-signification — The storyteller then answers closed questions about their story, which may include: ∙ Scale questions (e.g., “How much control did you feel in this situation?” rated 1-10) ∙ List selections (e.g., “Which factors influenced this outcome?” with predefined options) ∙ Triangle or matrix questions (e.g., positioning the story along multiple dimensions simultaneously) This approach ensures that the context of both the story and the storyteller is systematically explored. The storyteller — not the researcher — codes the narrative, preserving authenticity while generating quantitative data. Why Self-Signification Matters Kurtz emphasizes that “people are experts on their own experience” (Kurtz, 2014, p. 89). When storytellers code their own stories, several advantages emerge: ∙ Authenticity preserved — The meaning-making remains with the person who lived the experience ∙ Context captured — Closed questions can explore dimensions that might not emerge spontaneously in the narrative

How do we create a church where everyone feels welcome, heard, and safe? In our congregation, we explored that question through a short but powerful initiative: a “Quick Dive” into social safety. We formed a small team focused on recognizing complexity and launched a storytelling brigade. Over just a few weeks, we gathered personal stories from members—stories of comfort and unease, of feeling embraced and feeling overlooked. Not statistics, but lived experiences. Not judgment, but deep listening. Four key insights emerged: - 🧭 Connection thrives where people feel seen and known. - 🛟 Trust grows when concerns are taken seriously. - 🕯️ Space matters—both physical and relational. - 🌱 Healing begins with acknowledging what hurts. These insights led to tangible steps: a clear point of contact for concerns, more intentional moments of connection, and open conversations about difficult experiences. But more importantly, we’ve sparked a culture of listening and learning. “We are not just a church—we are a community that learns through each other’s stories.” This Quick Dive wasn’t the end—it was a beginning. A call to every congregation: dare to listen. Because within the stories of our people lies the key to a safer, more welcoming church.

Good morning, everyone. Today is December 26th, known in Britain and many Commonwealth countries as Boxing Day, while in several other countries, including the Netherlands and Germany, it’s called Second Christmas Day or Tweede Kerstdag. The name “Boxing Day” has interesting origins. Traditionally, it was the day when wealthy families would give boxes of gifts, food, and money to their servants and tradespeople as a thank you for their service throughout the year. It was also when churches opened their alms boxes to distribute donations to those in need. In many places, it became a day of rest and generosity, of giving back to the community. In countries that call it Second Christmas Day, it’s simply an extension of the Christmas celebration, a time to visit family and friends you might not have seen on Christmas Day itself, to continue the spirit of togetherness. Whether we call it Boxing Day or Second Christmas Day, there’s something beautiful about this day. It’s a pause, a breath between the excitement of Christmas and the anticipation of a new year. It’s a day that reminds us of generosity, community, and connection. And that brings me to what I want to talk about today: the power of stories. Yesterday, many of us shared stories around tables with family and friends. We told tales of Christmases past, remembered loved ones, laughed at familiar anecdotes we’ve heard a hundred times before. And yet, we listened again, because stories never lose their magic. Stories are how we make sense of the world. They’re how we pass down wisdom, preserve memories, and imagine possibilities. Every great movement in history, every scientific breakthrough, every act of courage began with someone telling a story about how things could be different. In school, we study stories every day. We read literature to understand the human experience. We learn history through the narratives of those who came before us. Even in science and mathematics, we’re learning the stories of discovery, of people who asked “what if?” and changed the world.