I’d like to share a short series of blog posts about the themes I have woven, and hope to weave, into my stories. These are complex ideas I am always mulling over and seeking to discover anew in my life and relationships. Many of them are deeply connected to my faith as a Christ follower, and some are philosophical in nature. My hope is that these posts can serve as way-markers for myself and others, as my books slowly make their way from my imagination to bookshelves.

SAINTHOOD

I’m reading a book right now titled “Ordinary Saints” published by Square Halo Books. It’s a collaboration of dozens of artists from all sorts of disciplines, who each have a meditation to share from every day life about how their faith intersects with something seemingly mundane, and creates an opportunity for glory. Each chapter takes a topic such as “Karaoke”, “Bone Broth”, or “Traffic” and mulls over the thin fabric separating our lived experiences from heavenly realities. The authors share from personal experience what it means to walk through life as a saint—as someone bearing witness to the glory of God in the ordinary. This is an admirable sentiment, and one that I long to embody in my life and art.

I don’t know about you, but when I hear the word saint I’m picturing someone a bit otherworldly, serene, probably as close to perfect as they come. It’s a natural inclination, when I call to mind stories of Christian martyrs and legendary heroes of the faith. We retell their stories with a gold lacquer painted over, as though hiding the earthy details of their daily living will make them more inspiring to the rest of us who are currently muddling through.

But adopting a more contemplative Christian tradition has begun to stir in me a new way of viewing what it means to be holy. If holiness is godliness, and our likeness comes closest to imaging our loving Father when we love others, then I think much of sainthood is simply caring for people close at hand with whatever means we already have at our disposal. Rather ordinary, don’t you think?

At any rate, I found this to ring true in my novel A Voracious Grief. When Ambrose was at his lowest, most despairing point, what he needed—more than a miracle, more than getting what he wanted handed to him—was a good friend. And in the moments when his heart was hard and his mind stubbornly stuck in a mire of shame, he needed the gentle voice and steady gaze of someone compassionate and wise. Were the gifts of companionship given to him by Godfrey Foxe and Anna Holm anything profound or extravagant? Were their words clarion calls of soul-shattering truth? No really. Mostly, they were just friendly, hospitable, oftentimes offering a gentle rebuke.

Ambrose himself possesses very little heroism for a protagonist. I intentionally robbed him of his moment of triumph, because it’s not about him overcoming his demons, whether internal or otherwise! His story is one of real people clinging to hope with a thread-thin faith, but because they walk that dark road together they’re stronger. Ambrose doesn’t prevail in his own right; he borrows much from the faith of others when he himself has none. And I think that says something beautiful about community, and why we’re better for having each other, and why we’re made to be image-bearers in the first place. Because the very nature of God is to enter in, to incarnate Himself, to bear our burdens, healing us with His nearness. We who know Him, become like Him.

Now, I’m looking toward two large writing projects and the prospects are exciting. I get to embody the ideas that are constantly swirling in my mind and heart inside my stories! I really love the process of creating something so complex and meaningful. And a large part of my writing is working out on the page what I’m learning in real life, so that means my work is always changing, evolving, digging deeper. My relationships, likewise. Along with new opportunities to serve and teach, to offer up faithfully from what I have been so richly given. Am I . . . becoming saintly?