I rinsed bits of wild rice and cranberry off my plate and grabbed my laptop from the table. While the next episode of Gilmore Girls loaded, I nestled into the couch and prepared myself for a Netflix binge.*
The following morning, as I sipped on a cup of french roast, I contemplated my media marathon and the power of stories to pull us in. For centuries, story-telling has kept humans up after dark—around fires, in igloos, and via MacBooks on the couch.
Stories sneak past our mental gestapo and grab us at a level where facts don’t reach. They penetrate down to where emotions shape what we want out of life.
Which makes me wonder…why do we tend to talk about Christianity like a set of beliefs, rather than a story that we’ve been swept up into?
