Story

Sometimes, just sometimes, when I go to my parents I leave the adult conversation or the loud laughter and sneak out to the hall. I pull back the glass doors of the bookcase, a family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation and begin looking at the books. These are the book we had as children. The ones my mum can't bear to let go. The ones that other children in my parents care now hold and look at. These are the stories that made me. These are the stories that taught me.

As I look through the rows one section stand out. The Bible story series that we collected volume by volume over years and years. There was always such excitement each time Dad brought us one home. The first volume we received is battered nearly beyond recognition., the title "A Baby Called John" peeling off. The story of Elizabeth being blessed with a son when it was humanly impossible. My favourite Bible story when I was two. The story I could recite word for word from the book when I was three.

This is not a fictional story. This is Truth. And why out of all the stories that were there did I pick that one as my favourite?

Because God has a way of preparing us from we are children for the hard things we will face.

God gives us stories to show His power.

God has ingrained that true story on my mind. That God can give a child to the barren.

God gave us stories. True stories.