One of my favourite ways God makes me feel about his whole story, taken from my novel...
“Anna, it was like forever walking up and down the blackest darkest hall, and unexpectedly going past a door with a light on inside.
And as you walked past it, this tiny slit of light shines out at you for the briefest second. For a moment, you are stunned awake and told of good things inside. But imagine that somehow you know that behind that door is a room larger than your universe and
lighter than a million suns.” I sighed in delight and caught her swinging hand without knowing it. “Then because your’ walking momentum has you already past the slit, you have to stop and go back and search and move your head in all directions
to catch the glimpse again and again. Until all you want to do it sit before the door with your nose up to the crack, dreaming and waiting, and hoping that someday you would be able to go inside. The only thing stopping you from standing up and pulling on
the handle, is knowing that the light would be so bright it would probably kill you – or at least burn away so much of you, that you become scared of what little might be left.” I stopped and faced her fully.
“And so, you wait. On
your knees – silently - patiently bathing in the one ray that has made contact with your soul,” I finished with contentment oozing out of my words. “This is how I always feel now.”
Tears fell down her cheeks and I reached out
to touch them. Her hand reached out to mine.
She knew. I could tell she understood.
There was something else in her eyes though. Like a wistful puppy looking through a glass door, with a feeling of knowing the door would not be opened for her.
It confused me and made me impatient.
“Do you not want it, too, Anna?” I asked.
Her face switched to despondency – looking back down to the waterfall she said, “I know I could never go inside, Brew. I am too dirty.
It would kill me. You could never understand.”
“Make me then, Anna.” I reached out to her again. “I want to know you. I need to see what holds you back. Talk of it. Break the power of it.” I begged her gently.
“It’s not a power that can be broken,” she said into the cascading waters. “This part of my story is unchangeable. It is my life and history.”
“No Anna!” Resistance rose up within me. “That is wrong.
That is a lie that you have been made to believe. Don’t you realize that a writer can change the future of anyone’s character?”