Food for our Souls

My love for storytelling started at a very young age. Although I can’t remember exactly when I fell in love with it, it seems that my passion for fiction stretches as far back as my memory does. Some of my earliest memories come from time spent in the basement, with crayons and colored pencils in hand, scribbling out comics. Whether it was through Legos, action figures, or one of my half-finished sketch pads, I was always creating characters and stories.

I can’t take credit for my love of story, however. I believe that a lion’s share of the credit belongs to my wonderful Momma, who is an avid reader and beautiful writer herself. Every night before bed she read us stories. May I take a second to point out, they weren’t lame ‘bedtime stories’ designed to lull us into a more docile state. No no, these were STORIES: filled with chosen warriors, dragons, magic wardrobes, wizard schools, kings, and hobbits.

(Almost) Every night my sister and I would tumble into my room, baited by fruit snacks and snuggles. We would race to my bunk bed, my sister choosing to cozy up with our chocolate lab, Tucker, on my bottom bunk. Meanwhile, I could be found dangling over the edge of the top bunk, my stuffed animal tucked tightly in my arms. My Mom would wrap herself up in a blanket, back pressed against the wall, and humbly fill my room with magic. Perhaps it was the voices she would do for each character, or her excellent pacing - or maybe even the inflection of her voice. But I was sure I could see the words swirling in the air. Suddenly I was no longer on the top bunk, dodging fan blades and throwing fruit snacks at my sister.

My imagination was set free! I was on the decks of pirate ships and the backs of dragons. I was on platform 9 ¾. I could be found dipping my head through the back of an old wardrobe, or in an epic dance with a Belrog as we plunged down into the unknown depths of the dark. Somewhere along the way, somewhere in Bagend, or perhaps in Hogwarts, maybe even on the Dawn Treader, I fell in love with adventure and magic. I fell in love with being really living.

I now know that my mom’s impeccable impression of Rubeus Hagrid (which I can vividly remember) wasn’t being done for the sake of doing a good impression, or even for the sake of telling a good story. And, she certainly wasn’t using fiction to allow me and my sister to escape the real world. In fact, I’d say it was quite the opposite: she was teaching us how to live in the real world, using stories to speak to our souls in a way nothing else can. We were learning about virtue, strength, honor, sacrifice, faith, love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Not through boring lectures and corny Sunday school lessons but through distilled wonder as it was being poured straight into our hearts.

I now know what it means to be brave, as Frodo was. I know to stand up to bullies, as Harry did. I know what it means to be loyal, as Samwise was. I know how to handle fear, as Peter did. I know how to have faith, as Lucy did.

I know the high price of the gospel, as Aslan did.

Our souls long for story. Perhaps it's because we, ourselves, are characters in a wonderful tale of magic, love, and adventure. We live in a story of terrible serpents and mighty champions. We are real characters in a real story teeming with giants, sea monsters, and warriors. Our real Author penned his real story with virtue; making it so every part of truth, beauty, and goodness is on full display. I think, that is why our souls long for a good story, and why fiction speaks so plainly to the very essence of who we are.

Fiction is food for our souls. I suppose the question I have for you is this: What are you feeding your soul?

Also, thank you, to my dearest Momma, for reading me stories.

“They Open A Door And Enter A World...”

― C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe