One brisk morning in fall, when the leaves fell from the trees and the wind rattled the windows, my daughter woke with a persistent cough and fever. The kind that makes you pause your list of to-do’s and just be.
I soon filled the bathtub and sat beside it, reading her story after story. Because this child doesn’t like reading, but she loves to be read to—especially when feeling under the weather.
Stories come in many different forms: by word of mouth, through books, music, dreams, films, and more. So in addition to our stack of books by the tub, my daughter and I soon engaged in a different kind of story. One that took us beyond the narrative of being sick.
I buried the living room floor in pillows and blankets. I set a box of tissues nearby. I refilled her water bottle. And we began watching Postman Pat, a 3D animated film based on the beloved British children’s TV series.
This film starts beautifully, overlooking the fictional village of Greendale, England—with its lush green meadows, peaceful streams, blue skies, and wide-open fields. Children are happily playing soccer. Friends are walking across cobblestone bridges. Everyone is smiling.
We soon arrive at the charming home of Postman Pat, his delightful wife, Sara, and their tuxedo bicolor cat, Jess. Postman Pat is about to begin his day performing his predictable postal duties (with immeasurable kindness, I might add).
Everything feels warm, comforting . . . perfect.
Until we collide with the story’s climax—and everything goes terribly wrong.
With little warning, Postman Pat’s beautiful world is under attack. His supervisor turns out to be his arch nemesis, and he has fashioned an evil plot to take over Greendale—and the entire world!
As my daughter and I reached this uncomfortable shift in the story, she said, “Let’s turn it off. I don’t want to watch this anymore.” And for a moment, I didn’t either.
What happened to our perfect story? Would things in Greendale ever be the same?
At that moment, it felt like Greendale lost all its color. Like in the Hobbit when all turns gray and you long for the green of the Shire.
Plot twists can be distressing. They can make one want to stop the movie or put down the book. In life, they can make me feel like David in Psalm 55:6–8:
“’Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest.
I would flee far away
and stay in the desert;
I would hurry to my place of shelter,
far from the tempest and storm.’”
In the tension of Postman Pat, I realized something had happened to us. Something that often happens when we encounter stories. We had made friends with the characters. We had grown to love them. Postman Pat, Sara, Jess . . . all of Greendale. Their stories had become personal. We were journeying with them. The last thing we wanted was for them to suffer.
The thing about stories is that they give words and expression to some of our own stories. They give us space to process and consider our own fears, questions, and concerns.
Someone recently told me that time slows down when you’re suffering. Consequently, it speeds up when things are going well. I have found this to be true in my own life. I imagine Jesus, crying from the ground of Gethsemane, asking his Father if there was any other way. I imagine the clock ticking slowly. I imagine a surge of isolation.
It is in this tension of Christ’s earthly life and death, where I find assurance. I’m assured that Christ understands all that I am facing. I’m assured that he sympathizes with my every fear and sorrow. I’m assured that he grieves what I grieve. And he grieves with me.
When I heard the tension in my daughter’s voice at the climax of Postman Pat, I assured her, “I know it feels hard. And we don’t yet know how it’s all going to end. But I think if we press on, it will be worth it. I’ll be right here with you . . .”
At that moment, God echoed a similar message to me: “I know how you’re feeling about that other situation . . . the one you want to fly away from. I’ll help you endure, and it will be worth it. I’ll be right here with you.”
He encouraged me to keep reading and to turn the next page. When my daughter and I reached the end of Postman Pat, we agreed; it was worth it. Perhaps that’s why stories are so essential for our faith and the faith of our kids. Because they remind us of a greater story—one in which God is the author. One in which he’s already written the ending. One in which light reigns now and forever.
So I keep turning the pages. Because today’s story does not end here. There is so much more to come.
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