As children we’ve all imagined what
it might be like to fly. Even as adults we occasionally still imagine. To soar
above our doubts and fears, beyond everything mankind knows about its existence
on the ground. I believe that stories can give us that flight. Or, at least,
the closest thing to it. Stories, like dreams, are wonderful and limitless. We
never have to concede to everyday mundanities. Through storytelling we are all adventurers.
Explorers, poets and engineers. We can breach dimensional veils and walk across
alien worlds. It’s my belief that our fondness for narrative is also our way of
reaching for God. Trying to comprehend those brief glimpses of something far
larger than ourselves. An infinite, living mystery. And we’ve all had glimpses.
We were all magicians once, when we were young. We travelled with and through
the stories we loved. We believed, that given enough imagination, we could grasp
something awe-inspiring, just beyond visible sight. Sometimes we even dared to imagine that if we
were humble enough, and pure of heart, that same awe might make itself visible to us. For the briefest of moments. In the bright smile of a loved
one. The kindness of a stranger, or the joy of an unexpected gift. I like to think that in those moments our Father is not only visible, but sitting with us
too – and wishing us well.
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