A bittersweet thing, Good Friday, as I consider that “greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

To think, he calls me friend. To even try to fully receive such a love… l’m overcome.

I took the opportunity earlier this week to disappear into solitude, retreating into the stillness of a rustic cabin beside a hurrying creek. Alone in deep-forest silence, but not in the least bit alone.

I’ve been reading The Scandal of the Kingdom in which Dallas Willard unpacks what the parables Jesus spoke reveal about life in Christ, and understanding, maybe for the first time really, why Jesus chose this technique for so much of his teaching.

If a heart is hard—as mine is from time to time—stories allow us to consider a principle on our own terms, as opposed to direct teaching that’s likely to fall on deaf ears.

Fear and pride gatekeep our hearts, and the knock that is gentle is often the one that gets a response, a slowly opening door.

Story stays with us in memory, and we may over time see ourselves in the narrative. We have a better chance of softening to the idea of change (don’t we hate change?).

This is why I find myself again before the Lord, asking for divine help to craft words and sentences into a meaningful story. In fiction I’m not called to overtly preach wisdom or grace or the beauty and hope of Jesus’ kingdom life. But I believe he can guide me as we co-create together in ways that are light-bringing and very, very needed.

Lord Jesus, I can never write anything of relevance and eternal value unless the ink is consecrated to you. Give life to the words that fall on the page in ways I don’t even need to be aware of. Soften hearts to know and love you more, through the power of story.

This I lay at your feet. Feet scarred for me and for those I love. Amen.