We love stories. Tales of giants, adventures, pirates, princesses, and castles far away enchant us. We dream with the characters. We feel their anger, burn with their passion, and cry their tears. the characters of a good story are real to us.
We know how to fear and hate the wicked villain and pity those in distress. We weep when the hero gives his life for those he loves.
We like to watch the story blossom before our very eyes. The best stories seem written for us, a message for us alone. They are our treasures, locked in the vaults of our souls, feeding our hopes and dreams.
Why do these stories, which take us to places we have never seen, with people we have never met, draw us so? Perhaps it is because each person’s life is a story, carefully written by the hand of God. Like a spider’s web, our lives are intricately woven and no one knows where they will lead. Some stories become long forgotten, others ever remembered, preserved by the minds and hearts of ages.
These stories are all different. The stories created by men, though in the whole untrue, each carry truth within them. The most fantastic and impossible often carry the most truth.
As we read or hear stories, we fall down a rabbit hole and navigate a labyrinth with only a ball of string. We ride in a pumpkin coach and sail on a pirate ship.
The stories that carry us we never wish to leave, dreaming of them after we have turned the last page and heard the last word.