Into the Fire

We’ve all read them—books that made us laugh, cry, think, react—but they didn’t necessarily stay with us. Then there are those that last and last. The ones we cared about, the ones that lingered, the ones that to this day evoke a certain feeling when they’re mentioned or a wistfulness when out of the blue we remember a certain part, character, or line from the story. Oh my . . .

If we read them long ago, we might be hard pressed to reveal specifics, but we’ll remember the feeling(s) we had when we read them.

I grew up on Walter Farley’s The Black Stallion books. How I loved them. I couldn’t tell you much about the stories themselves anymore, though. I also remember reading a little book from the library entitled Comanche of the 7th (Cavalry) which was based on a true story. I remember weeping over that one—it was about a heroic cavalry horse.

The next one where I remember feeling something different—and lasting—was Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. It was picturesque and haunting. So many years ago.

And then, much later, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender Is the Night . . . I loved that book. How ‘bout One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Sometimes A Great Notion by Ken Kesey? He really was a great writer. (Subjective, isn’t it?)

The thing is . . . those books that knocked your socks off might have me rolling my eyes and vice versa, of course. That’s the way it is with preferences. We’re all different, yet alike. That’s why it’s so annoying when people get all snobby about what they think is great, like all the rest of us are fools because we don’t agree.

I remember when I was “growing up” and did not know Jesus, I loved D.H. Lawrence, Flaubert, read Hesse and Sartre, Kafka, Salinger.

I doubt if I’d enjoy them now. Knowing Jesus Christ changes us from the inside out. Things are never quite the same. I’m no longer drawn to talent for the sake of talent. Or stories without a mention or inference to the Lord. Or godlessness. Or secular humanism.

As a writer, I think most of us want to write those stories which linger in readers’ minds. To touch them with the words that tell of people, places, and things which somehow will touch their lives as they slip into the pages of fiction for the time it takes to read a book. To make them think, smile, mourn and grieve, laugh and giggle, frown and perhaps want to curse at such a predicament, to cause them just to take an extra moment at the end as they slowly close the book and . . . feel blessed to have read it.

Yes, God, as you ordain our steps, may we reach up to your thrown and place our writing as an offering at your feet . . . and receive your smile, your blessing, your affirmation of a job well done. That would be the ultimate, Lord. Let it be, in the Name of Jesus, Amen.