My children have heard a lot of stories. Some have been made up on the fly (The Wilson Kid Adventures), some have involved hobbits, some apostles, some dwarves, and some have involved men caught up in horrible wars (their great grandfathers).
My kids have heard stories about B-17 squadrons, and destroyers hitting mines, and their great grandmother’s dear friend, Corrie Ten Boom. They have heard stories about boys and about girls, about men and about women who faced the darkness armed with Light.
They have heard true stories from history, and they have heard true stories that we call fiction. And I have been blessed to watch their young eyes sparkle with joy, and their young souls swell and grow with story food. Stories are more than amusement.
Do not fear those who can destroy the body — lions, armies, giants, kings, Balrogs, Caesars, large rats, or neighborhood bullies.
A Mistrust of Magic?
Bible-believing Christians frequently have a deep mistrust of fiction. In particular, they have a deep mistrust of, ahem, magic. This is impossible for me to understand, partly because I was weaned on C. S. Lewis and Tolkien, but more profoundly because I was marinated in Scripture at a very young age (by my parents). And Scripture is full of … stories. More than that, Scripture is full of the miraculous and the amazing. “Throw water on the altar,” Elijah says. “Fire will still fall from Heaven.” A famous shepherd boy takes down an infamous six-fingered giant. Don’t let the long-haired man near a jawbone. Collect the animals and build a boat. Whatever you do, don’t listen to that serpent.
[Read the rest of the article at Desiring God.]