There is something about stories that speak so much of the way life really is – the way we ought to see it. Fairy tales have a way of whispering things so intrinsic to our nature – things we were designed for but have become distrustful towards. Something of these tales feels so familiar to us, as if perhaps we lived in a story like that once upon a time.
We seem to have a complete inability to recognise the stories that we ourselves live in. Our dreams are filled with fantasy and romance – things that perhaps other people discover at some point on their journey – but the lives beneath our own feet seem caught between ordinary and disappointing. We have come to distrust that the themes of fantasy find their heart in the real world.
We have experienced cruel realities, and each of them has come with a whisper that erodes the banks of hope in our heart. When did we begin to let tragedy define us? When did we stop believing that the things we dream are mirrors of His dreams towards us? The instincts of our heart, the very DNA of a world where light shines and there is no darkness, has given way to a common view of a lesser life. When did we come to deny so much and expect so little? What caused us to kill our deepest wells of life, to distrust our dreams, and go off striving on our own to earn something we couldn’t find? When did we forget the symphonies of grace?
Perhaps life really is all we ever dreamed of. Can we really believe that the life we live is without the goodness of the One who created it? If all the things we dream about life are not supposed to be so, then why do we have the capacity to dream them? It cannot be that we create greater stories in our minds that that which our Creator crafted for us. The essence of this life was designed to mirror the tales of His heart.
But we have forgotten our fairy tales. We have failed to notice the themes running through our days. Do we even hear the soundtrack that accompanies us anymore? Each life creates melodies like none ever has before. Turn the page and the orchestra soars. Walk down a new road and you find yourself in the midst of a piano solo. Seasons close to soft sounds that linger before resolving to that one note you crave to hear.
We must believe in things that do not seem to fit within the box of reason that disappointment has built for us. Because if we could draw back the curtains of how we have seen today, we would catch a glimpse of a forgotten fairy tale from which all great stories have been scripted. We would at once know that there is something of fantasy that is so much more real, more alive. That the pictures we paint in our imaginations are really faint memories of what was always meant to be. We would discover that dreams really do come true. We would step through the veil and with misty eyes realise that we were standing in the midst of every story we ever wished was true.