One of the ways I experience God’s love is in my enjoyment of story.
Does that make any sense?
What I mean is that when I lie awake in bed at night with ideas, characters, and stories tripping capriciously through my mind, I feel like God’s beloved. When I read incredible writing that makes my brain fizz and my fingers itch, I feel confident that God is good and that He loves me deeply. Why else would he offer me something so unfathomably beautiful?
Beauty, period. Why invent loveliness, color, sound, except out of sheer grace?
And for me, story. The delight of it all is like a resting place.
Jesus Christ is a believer’s gravity; he infuses meaning and purpose into our lives and tethers us to reality through the Body and the Blood. There is no story more fascinating, mysterious, devastating, resplendent, and sanguine than the gospel, and this is the reason we need more Christian writers in the United States to write and be published. Believers have an incredible capacity for story—true story—which is our duty and privilege to share. When we weave gospel truths into our stories—even when we whisper or our voices shake—those stories assume deeper meaning, exactly what the world craves, whether knowingly or not. Tales with no hint of the divine, no rumor of a Savior, may often be a poor investment, a squandering of what might have been.
C.S. Lewis wrote, “Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.” Books written by Christians are just such miracles, stories that are able to be held, while the Great Story, instead, holds us.