“And he was gesturing up through the trees above to show them how it was woven across the sky or how the sky was woven into the trees; he wasn’t sure which. But there it was, he smiled, and the weaving went on, green and blue, if you watched and saw the forest shift its humming loom.” — Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine
My seventh novel is sitting with my publisher in the first round of edits. It’s the story of a lost girl discovering who she is. (Aren’t a lot of stories about someone discovering who they are?) With each story I write, it has become my tradition to create a companion devotional. This one is no different, and as I began the story, I thought I knew its devotional topic. About halfway through, that changed to something surprising…at least to me.
As a Jesus-follower, I want my stories to point people to Him. But I don’t start a story with a message in mind. Like real life, our testimonies unfold with each experience, and for my characters, I want the weaving of my faith to be as organic. I never have any doubt what I believe about God will show up. That isn’t something I can help, because my belief in Jesus and His goodness and our purpose in Him is core to who I am. I cannot separate my faith from any part of my life, because, if my life is a pie, Jesus is not a slice; He is the filling. He flavors everything, including my storytelling.
Sometimes the threads of my faith are very visible and overt; other times they are found between the lines. Neither is because I am trying to make them one or the other. While I am plotting, I might have the glimmer of an idea of what faith elements might appear in the story, but not because I am planning them. As I weave together the character’s relationships and experiences, those glimmers may come to fruition, or they may change into something else completely. How bright a thread is—whether it is weft or weave— is based solely on what I know of the characters in that moment on their timeline.
In my last book, The Castle Rose, I wrestled with this. Somewhere in the writing, a (not a) ghost story about true love breaking curses began to require me to delve into what true (agape) love really is. The Gospel became much more overt than I ever intended from the start. It wasn’t planned, but it was what felt genuine to the characters. So, I let the shuttle pass more luminous threads than perhaps some of my other stories have had.
As those elements thread over the page, I wonder how people will respond. Will they love it more or less? Will it be too Christian or not Christian enough? I’d be lying to say it doesn’t stir at least a little insecurity and anxiety to consider.
But the better question—the one I return to to ground myself is, does it reflect Jesus well? Does it honor His character and truth?
In all the weaving—as well as the heart of the story weaver—is He honored with every thread, whether its hues be vivid or subtle? Because He doesn’t need a story to be a sermon for it to plant and water seeds of truth and faith in the reader. Knowing that makes my job easier, because I can rest in His guiding of the loom.
To find out more about my books, head to the Stories section of my Substack.
I love how you put it. Faith is the filling. Thank you for sharing this. It is a great reminder about how writing for God's glory should work.