Leading Between the Lines

Maybe it is just me, maybe it is just because I am an artist and a self-proclaimed epic nerd, or perhaps it is due to the little kid in me who refuses to grow up; but I love a good story.

All throughout high school and Bible college, I had this incredible ability to forget information. Much to the chagrin of my professors and teachers, I never could properly diagram the multifaceted "Millennial" doctrines, nor could I properly identity even a third of the periodic table. But what I can remember is being wholly and completely changed by the power of narrative. Subjects like Bible and history came so easily to me—not the dates and death tolls, doctrines and disciplines—but the stories of the people, and of God, have always captivated my heart and unleashed my imagination.

I'll never forget walking out of the movie theater after watching The Fellowship of the Ring for the very first time and having an insatiable desire to know more about this Middle Earth and the man who created it. Though Tolkien himself never explicitly intended it, I resonated with the unmistakable parallels to the bigger story of God and the tension we all find ourselves in while His story is being told.

I remember learning about grace and forgiveness all throughout Sunday school, and I studied its origins and meanings in Bible college, but it was not until I read the scene in Lewis' The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe where Aslan forgives Edmund that I truly understood the heart of forgiveness. There was this depth of understanding that came when I felt Edmund’s relief and Aslan’s love as the Lion forgave his betrayal and restored him to his place with his brother and sisters.

In our culture of leadership and ladder-climbing, catch phrases and well-crafted truths, I am wondering if we can too easily lose the method that God has always used to show us His heart.

Have we branded the mystery right out of the message? Have we over-explained and simplified religion into bite-sized morsels of wisdom, and in doing so missed out on the chance for the mind to draw its own images, connecting them in unique ways to our individual souls?

It is not lost on me how rarely Jesus spoke in bullet points, truth bombs, or succinct little snippets of divine doctrine; rather, He most often told stories. Why do you think that is? Why do you think the Son of God, who knew He would only be here for a brief season, would choose to teach through narrative? I think it is because truth without layers, without some kind of human context, cannot possibly last beyond our mental engagement with its truthfulness. And I believe that Jesus was not merely after our minds’ agreement; He was seeking our hearts’ movement.

A year and a half ago I started wrestling with this idea of telling stories with the intent of connecting the heart and soul of the reader to the truths that the mind is processing. I could not be satisfied with just knowing about God, nor could I settle for my kids or my church family being okay with a mental facts and principles understanding of Him. I wanted for all of us to know Him the way that He wants to be known, and so I set out on an adventure to tell a part of His story.

What I found there in the pages of imagination, wonder and magic has changed me rather dramatically.

In the forward of my book, The Great Darkening, I proposed this idea about the heart of the allegory:

"We might never be able to systemize something as seemingly elusive and enigmatic as truth. We can, however, muse about it; we can wonder and revel in its complexities. We can let its multi-facetted flavors roll over the palate of our souls, and we can take its heartbeat, its rhythm, and set it in a whole other creature altogether; a new world of myth and song and story. We might find that the very thing we longed to study in the sterile, nonsense-free environments of fact and reason might only be truly understood, or at the very least wholly felt, in the messiness of a story. In doing this, we just might find that it is not so unfathomable as it first seemed, and perhaps we might discover something that was never really hidden to begin with."

I will tell you—as one whose life is going through many twists and turns, joys and heartbreaks at the moment—even the storyteller himself can rediscover, or unearth for the very first time, the truth laced throughout his own words. I cannot properly express my gratitude for the movement of God that continues to captivate my own heart in the rise and fall of the story He has asked me to tell.

So here is the question that continues to fuel my inspirations and endeavors, and I’ll ask it of us all: what would happen if we—as leaders and dreamers, pastors and coaches—took the time to tell our truths in such a way that they are solidified in the minds of all who become a listening audience, by way of first properly stirring their souls?