I had a thought the other day.
There is really only one story – God’s story.
You and I create stories, but the only bits that will last are those that reflect the heart of God’s story. I don’t mean that only stories that talk explicitly about God are the only ones with any value, rather a tale’s worth depends on how much it reflects the story from which all other stories flow. Give me a yarn spun by an atheist with the scent of heaven in his nostrils rather than another two-dimensional moral diatribe written by someone with a fiery pen and a cold heart.
God’s story burns at the centre of the solar system, orbited by every other story ever created. There are stories that are popular and lauded, but are really nothing more than lifeless, icy rocks spinning out into the infinite void. Then there are others, small and ignored, that rotate so close to the sun that they burn with a lover’s passion and can’t be seen without looking at the source itself.
I hope that, whenever I write and whatever I write, I am in some way honouring the story that keeps me warm at night.
“Since all the world is but a story, it were well for thee to buy the more enduring story, rather than the story that is less enduring.” – St. Columba
