I’ve come to realize that God doesn’t always speak through loud signs or flashes of revelation. More often than not, His voice slips in quietly through a calm in my heart that doesn’t make sense in the natural. There have been times I prayed for direction, and though everything around me looked uncertain, there was this unexplainable stillness inside. Other times, even when the option before me seemed perfect, I just couldn’t shake the unease. That’s when I learned that peace and unrest are both languages God speaks in. Peace — The Mark of His Presence Scripture says, “Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts” (Colossians 3:15). The word “rule” there means to act as an umpire. In other words, peace helps us discern what’s right. It calls the shots in moments of confusion. When God is leading you, there’s a rest that anchors your heart even when your mind still has questions. You may not know every detail, but there’s a gentle assurance that you’re safe in His will. This peace isn’t the absence of problems, it’s the quiet confidence that God is with you in the process. It’s that inner calm that whispers, “You don’t need to rush, I’ve got this.” “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in You.” ~ Isaiah 26:3 Unrest Is The Holy Spirit’s Red Flag But just as peace affirms His voice, unrest can be His warning. There are moments when the Holy Spirit stirs a discomfort in you, a subtle tension that says, “Don’t go there.” You can’t always explain it logically, but something feels off. That’s not fear, it’s discernment. When Jonah ran from God’s assignment, he found no rest until he returned to obedience. Sometimes, the storm outside is just a reflection of the storm within. Pay attention to that unease because it may be heaven’s way of protecting you. Learning to Listen Within The more you walk with God, the more you’ll notice that His peace is not silent, it’s a voice of its own. The key is to slow down long enough to hear it. Quiet your thoughts, surrender your plans, and invite the Holy Spirit to speak. You’ll begin to recognize that His peace is steady, not fleeting. It doesn’t waver with circumstances, and when it’s absent, that’s often your cue to pause, pray, and wait until He brings clarity. In Stillness God’s voice isn’t just heard, it’s felt. Sometimes through a peace that holds you still, other times through a restlessness that redirects you. Either way, He’s speaking, not to confuse you, but to keep you close. “You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace.” ~Isaiah 55:12 © Favour

There’s something profoundly moving about the phrase “Abraham, God’s friend.” It’s not just a title, it’s a description of a life deeply intertwined with God’s heart. Abraham didn’t just serve God; he walked with Him. He laughed, questioned, trusted, and followed. And through it all, something beautiful formed, which was friendship. The Friendship Wasn’t One-Sided When we think about knowing God, we often imagine reverence, worship, and obedience, all of which are true and necessary. But Abraham’s story teaches us that friendship with God is not just about doing for Him, it’s about being with Him. “Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do?” ~ Genesis 18:17 God didn’t hide things from Abraham. He said, “Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do?” (Genesis 18:17). That’s what friends do; they share secrets, plans, and burdens. Abraham wasn’t perfect. He doubted, feared, and even made mistakes, but friendship with God isn’t reserved for the flawless; it’s reserved for the faithful. Those who keep showing up, even when they don’t understand everything. The Friendship That Grew From Trust Every friendship deepens through trust, and for Abraham, that trust was repeatedly tested. When God asked him to leave his home without a clear destination, he obeyed. When God promised a son long after it seemed possible, Abraham believed. And when God asked for Isaac, the promise itself. Abraham didn’t hesitate, because by then, he had learned something we often miss, which is the fact then when you know God’s heart, you stop fearing His instructions. It’s easy to serve a God you fear, but it takes intimacy to obey a God you trust. That’s why James 2:23 says, “Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness, and he was called a friend of God.” His belief wasn’t passive; it was active trust. God Still Invites Us The most stunning truth is that the same friendship is still available to us. Jesus said in John 15:15, “I no longer call you servants, I have called you friends.” God doesn’t just want worshipers who admire Him from afar. He desires friends who walk with Him daily who share silence, laughter, questions, and trust. To be God’s friend means to let Him into your ordinary days, not just your holy moments. It’s hearing His whispers in your chaos, and learning that His presence isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s gentle and near, like a heartbeat beside yours. Friendship with God is that confidence that says, “Even when I don’t know what You’re doing, I know who You are.” And I dare to say that’s what Abraham knew. He knew that knowing God is not about having all the answers. It’s about walking close enough to trust the One who does. © Favour

unsplash Time is linear for us. God set it that way from the very beginning for us, days, weeks, years, etc. People live inside those boundaries. But God?He lives outside of them.He is the Author of time, not bound by it. Then God reshaped the way I see prayer. This used to happen often to me, and I think many people can relate. I’d be scrolling online, where you don’t usually see or hear updates. I’d see a prayer request and stop to lift them up to God. Then I’d notice it was posted a day or so ago, sometimes even longer. I used to feel bad and think that I was too late. I mean, I’d really, really feel bad about it, like I wasn’t there when they needed it the most. Then one random day, it happened again, and I about spiraled myself down that path of feeling bad all over again. The thought in my head was, if I prayed now, what was the point? I was already too late. Now I’ve come to realize satan was using that. God spoke and said, “Not with Me” I’m not gonna lie. That answer actually took me a little to figure out what He meant, but I did eventually figure it out. lol First, no thought you have should ever stop you from praying to begin with. Period. That was one thing I figured out right quickly. I was letting myself talk myself out of praying, and satan was having a heyday with that. Second, as I said above, God is literally outside of time. He is not bound by our past, present, or future. To Him there is no such thing as too late. Every prayer is a connected one-on-one private moment with Him. Now we may never know the outcome of our prayer, and sometimes we do, but prayer isn’t just for that person or situation. It’s for you to. You don’t build trust, faith, and hope on silent lips. But you can sure lose it on silent lips. Every prayer is heard at exactly the right moment, for the right reason. When we pray, even if we think it‘s too late, God receives it outside of our timeline and applies it with His perfect timing and for His glory. So don’t hold back. Don’t second-guess. Pray anyway. Because with God, every prayer is on time. “But do not let this one fact escape your notice, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years like one day.” 2 Peter 3:8 © Jane Isley Thank you for taking the time to read, and please consider supporting my work. Your gift helps keep this work going, blesses others, and means the world to me. You can visit me at Faithful Writers on Medium, where other Christian writers have joined me in sharing the word of God. You can also find me on Facebook.

The cross should not inspire comfort. It was never designed for that. Rome used crucifixion to break people — body, mind, and spirit. It was a billboard of domination, a slow death by suffocation and shame, reserved for slaves, rebels, and anyone who dared to challenge the empire. Bodies were nailed up at city gates to remind passers-by who was in charge. It was so degrading that self-respecting Romans avoided even mentioning the word “cross” in polite conversation. And not only in ancient Rome. In 2015, ISIS fighters crucified victims in Syria, leaving their bodies on display in the streets. The message was the same as it had been two thousand years earlier: this is what happens when the powerful want to crush the weak. The cross is history’s symbol of oppression. So why do millions of people now wear it proudly around their necks? Rome’s Weapon of Terror Crucifixion was Rome’s propaganda made flesh. It wasn’t simply about killing. It was about humiliating. Naked bodies, jeering crowds, hours or days of suffering — all staged for maximum psychological impact. It told the world: the strong define truth, the weak are disposable. That’s why, to the first-century mind, the Christian claim that a crucified man was Lord of the world was sheer madness. Historian Tom Holland puts it starkly: “This is why the cross, that ancient implement of torture, remains what it has always been: the fitting symbol of the Christian revolution.” — Tom Holland, Dominion A Strange Turning Point Against all odds, the followers of Jesus of Nazareth didn’t bury their shame in silence. They proclaimed it. The very instrument of terror became their banner. Why? Because they believed something had happened that Rome never intended: Jesus’ crucifixion was not the beginning of God’s story, but the turning point. What looked like defeat was, in fact, victory. Rome stripped Jesus of dignity; he forgave his executioners. Rome broke his body; God raised him from the dead. The empire thought it had spoken the last word in blood and wood. But the Word — the one through whom all things were made — spoke back through resurrection. The Cross After Rome Once Jesus reframed the cross, it could no longer be used in the same way. Christians began to live as though every person mattered equally before God. They rescued abandoned infants, cared for plague victims, and eventually built the first hospitals. Even the long road toward abolishing slavery drew energy from this belief: that the God who hung on a cross dignified the lowliest of human beings. What had been a weapon of terror became a wellspring of hope. Why It Still Matters The cross is still offensive today, not because it’s violent, but because it redefines strength. Our culture prizes winning, dominance, and visibility. The cross insists that true power is found in self-giving love. That’s why it endures. That’s why it’s worn not as a warning but as a sign of hope. What the empire used to crush, the Word transformed into a declaration: even in weakness, God’s power wins. So here’s the question: If the cross really does flip oppression into freedom, what would it mean for us to live by that kind of power today? I write about the strange, surprising ways faith reshapes our world. If you’d like to know more about why I write, you can visit my About Me page. © Nathan Cole

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash I didn’t grow up in a Christian home. My parents were loving and kind, but I didn’t know Jesus, and I didn’t know the good news of the Gospel. By the grace of God, that began to change in my first year at university. An Unexpected Invitation I still remember standing awkwardly at orientation on day one when a friendly student walked up and invited me to the Christian group on campus. We had a few mutual connections. I thought I had a rough idea of what a “Christian group” might be. It felt harmless to say yes. Why not have a look? What happened next surprised me. They opened the Bible. That might sound obvious, but it wasn’t to me. I had barely seen a Bible, and I’d never read one. Watching a group of students quietly open those thin pages felt strange, almost novel – like stepping into a room I didn’t know existed. No hype. No hard sell. Just words on a page – and people who seemed to care about them. Through the group, I started reading the Bible for myself. I didn’t suddenly understand everything. I asked basic questions. I held my doubts in one hand and the text in the other. But the more I read, the more a single figure came into focus: Jesus. I began to see that Christianity wasn’t mainly about becoming “better” or earning spiritual points. It was about a person and a cross – about what God had done, not what I could do. That realization unsettled me in the best way. When the Cross Stopped Being Abstract As I kept reading, something clearer – and weightier – landed. If the Gospel really is true… If Jesus really did die… If the cross is God’s way of dealing with sin – even mine – then this isn’t a set of ideas to admire from a distance. It demands a response. Not pressure, not panic – just the honesty of facing a gift I couldn’t pay back and a mercy I couldn’t earn. A few months later, at an Easter event on campus, the pieces came together. I believed in Jesus Christ. I accepted that forgiveness of sin is only possible through his cross. And I decided I wanted to follow Him. There wasn’t a spotlight or a dramatic soundtrack. Just a quiet “yes” that felt like the most honest thing I’d ever said. What Changed (and What Didn’t) Not everything became easy. Life didn’t suddenly arrange itself into neat lines. But something essential shifted. I wasn’t standing outside anymore, looking in. I belonged to the One I’d been reading about. The questions didn’t disappear; they became part of a conversation with Someone real. I kept reading the Bible. I learned to pray in plain words. I found myself wanting to know Jesus, not just know about him. Grace turned belief into a path I could actually walk. I never expected to meet Jesus at university. I never expected an invitation in an orientation line to change my direction. But that is the beauty of grace: it meets us before we know how to look for it. If you find yourself where I was – curious, uncertain, a little surprised – open a Bible. Ask your real questions. See what the cross means, not in theory, but for you. I did. And it changed everything. © Nathan Cole Originally published on Medium.

The Pressure to Produce It doesn’t always show up as a voice in your head. Sometimes it’s just the way your stomach drops when you see someone else’s career update on LinkedIn. Or the way you feel restless when you take a slow morning instead of ploughing through your to-do list. I’ve carried this pressure — the sense that my worth hangs on what I get done. Work harder, study more, check the boxes, move the needle. If I achieve, I matter. If I don’t, I’m nothing. It sounds dramatic when written out, but many of us quietly live this way. The Gospel Against the Grain Ephesians 2:8–10 offers words that run against the cultural current: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith — and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God — not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Here’s the order: Saved by grace (not performance) Through faith (not self-effort) As a gift (not an achievement) To do good works (not to prove our worth) It’s not that work doesn’t matter. It’s that work flows from identity rather than creating it. Achievements are Fragile Anchors Building identity on achievement feels safe — until it doesn’t. Grades slip. Careers stall. Bodies slow down. Someone younger, faster, smarter enters the room. And then what? If who I am depends on what I achieve, I’m always one failure away from collapse. But if who I am depends on what Christ has done, the foundation is different. He doesn’t change. The cross doesn’t expire. His declaration of grace doesn’t wobble with the markets or the metrics. Grace Doesn’t Erase Work, It Redeems It Notice Paul’s flow: grace first, works second. We don’t earn grace by working; we work because grace has already been given. That’s liberating. It means the tasks of the day — emails, spreadsheets, parenting, phone calls — are no longer auditions for acceptance. They are expressions of it. We work not to prove ourselves but to love others. Grace doesn’t cancel diligence. It redeems it. Imagine two people doing the same job. Outwardly they look identical — same desk, same deadlines, same tired commute. But one is working to prove they matter. The other is working because they already know they matter in Christ. The difference is enormous. One is chained to achievement; the other is free to serve. A Word for the Weary Achiever If you’re exhausted from carrying the weight of proving yourself, Ephesians 2 whispers something counter-cultural: you are God’s workmanship. His creation. His craft. That means your identity is already given, not earned. Your worth is already secured, not negotiated. And your work — whatever it looks like — is part of God’s larger story, not the thing that defines you. Where This Leaves Us You are not your résumé. You are not your GPA. You are not your productivity stats. You are God’s beloved, created in Christ Jesus for a life of grace-shaped good works. And that means even on the days when you don’t achieve, you are still His. Keep Going If you’d like a way to anchor this truth in your daily life, I’ve created a 30-day printable devotional journal called Identity in Christ. Each page is short: one passage, a reflection prompt, and space to pray. It’s designed to fit into ten quiet minutes a day, and it’s available as a PDF (US Letter/A4) or for GoodNotes. View the 30-day Identity in Christ journal on Etsy → At the end of the day, the truest thing about you isn’t what you’ve achieved – it’s what Christ has already done. Where do you most feel the pull to prove yourself, and what helps you remember your worth is secure in Christ? I’d love to hear in the comments. © Nathan Cole

I will never forget the day I leaned over to my mom during church and whispered, “I’m going to the other side of the world.” We had been listening to our missions committee speak about an upcoming trip overseas, and the words flew out of my mouth so suddenly that I was left spinning. No doubt it was the Holy Spirit moving in me, because I couldn’t stop myself from saying it. It just… came out. What really shocked me, though, was her response: “I knew you would be.” Wait, what? No argument, no laugh, no questioning her 17-year-old daughter, who just said she wanted to hop a plane and leave the country. Just, “Okay. We’ll make it happen.” And happen, it did. I Was Wildly Unprepared The minimum age to embark on this trip was 18. I turned 18 a few months before we were supposed to leave so I was the youngest, least seasoned Christian on the team (that’s important for later). We spent months prepping: fundraising, making travel arrangements, studying the culture, meeting as a team, and saturating the upcoming trip in hours of prayer. Our leader briefed us on spiritual warfare, about how heavy the demonic oppression was in the area we’d be traveling to. We heard stories from other team members who’d been before, and they confirmed it was to be expected. The accounts ranged in severity from lost luggage to being detained by local authorities and miraculously being released without them searching the team’s backpacks full of Bibles (which were illegal to have in the country we’d be going to). Soon, we were prayed up, packed up, studied up, and ready to go. I felt mostly confident, a little nervous, but completely excited to be heading off to share the gospel. I was ready. Except… I was not. 3 flights and a 12-hour bus ride later, we were on the ground. The trip was mostly smooth (I’ll save that for another article), and we were linked up with our point of contact ready to talk about Jesus. We’d already seen some incredible things happen, and one of our team members even led a local to Christ on the bus ride, so by the time we arrived we were on cloud nine thinking about all the Lord was going to do over the next couple of weeks. Remember how I said I was the most unseasoned Christian on the trip? Well, it had me believing that I wasn’t a target. I believed that all the wild tales I’d heard from former team members wouldn’t happen on this trip because of how smoothly it was going. My false sense of security left me totally unprepared to face what would happen. The Night that Shook Me to My Core Each of us on the team shared a hotel room with one of the other team members, and my roommate was one of my good friends who was just a few years older than me. She was, and is, a faithful Christian who loves the Lord, and I will forever treasure the conversations we had on that trip. We ended one of our days making preparations to go up into the mountains the next day. We’d been in the city thus far, so it would be different in the villages. In the area we were working in, there was a night and day difference between city life and village life. So stark was the difference, it almost felt like stepping into a completely different country as we ascended the mountain just outside the city, leaving the modern comforts of hotels and restaurants to find that some of the highest points didn’t even have electricity or running water. We had finished our preparations and bags were packed for the early morning bus ride up the mountain. Excitedly, we drifted off to sleep thinking about what the mountains had in store for us. At some point during the night, my roommate got up and went to the restroom. It woke me briefly, but I soon drifted back off. Shortly after, she got up again. This time, she was walking around the room, so I assumed she couldn’t sleep and was up looking for her Bible or something. Again, I drifted off. The third time I was woken up, I felt the heaviness. I rolled onto my back and looked over to see my roommate fast asleep on her bed. So what had woken me up? I wanted to get up, but my body couldn’t move. Completely paralyzed, I lay there, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. I felt a presence in the room, but was unable to move or do anything but stare up at the ceiling. At the same time I felt the heaviness, I also experienced the warmest feeling of peace I’d ever felt. Though I couldn’t move, I knew in my spirit that it was a good thing. I felt like I was trapped inside a holy bubble, being shielded from the darkness in the room. I wasn’t scared; I was at peace. Soon, I drifted off one more time. WHAM! At 6 am, I sat straight up in bed and caught a glimpse of my roommate flinging the door open and running out of our room. I got up and followed her as she went next door to another of our team’s rooms, which her mom and our team leader were staying in. As it turns out, she was violently sick, and we’d soon find out two of our other team members were too. I asked my roommate if that’s why she’d been up so much during the night, to which she responded she’d never gotten out of her bed until she’d left the room. Confused, she informed me that she’d heard me all night long getting up and down and walking around the room. I hadn’t. At this point, I had chills. Neither of us had been out of bed. Neither of us had been walking around. The heaviness, the presence in the room? That was the enemy. The four of us talked and were able to put more pieces of the puzzle together. We discovered that at least one of us had been awake just about all night long. Each time one of us were woken up, we prayed and went back to sleep. All night long, the wake-ups grew progressively more intense, and around the time I was feeling the heaviness, my roommate’s mom was praying over our room because she’d felt it too. That explained the peaceful shielding I felt the night before. As we reevaluated our day ahead, we decided to move forward with the plan, albeit with a smaller group. Of the 6 of us ladies, 3 were sick and stayed behind, while the other 3 of us went up to the villages for the day. There weren’t any earth-shattering miracles that day. No salvations that we were able to witness. But we sure planted seeds. We spread the message of the gospel to anyone who would listen, in an area that was saturated with idol worship and unbelief. We visited a couple of Buddhist temples, met with many wonderful people in the villages, and rode back down the mountain on a bus next to a man carrying a live chicken. Most importantly, we accomplished what the Lord had sent us and equipped us that day to do. What it all Means Spiritual warfare is real and ever-present. What we experienced that night was a demonic attack, intended to stop us from what we were planning to do the next day. We could have cancelled the plan. We chose to follow the Lord instead. I had never experienced that type of attack before. Thankfully, someone else was covering me in prayer at a time I was too immature in my faith to see it. No doubt there were others back home praying for us, too. That night, I learned firsthand that we can’t walk through life with spiritual blinders on. We can’t pretend the enemy doesn’t exist. Our struggle is not against humans, but rather spiritual forces (Ephesians 6:12). That’s why it’s vital as Christians that we put on our spiritual armor — every single day (Ephesians 6:10–11). We have got to pray over everything (Philippians 4:6), and often (1 Thessalonians 5:17). Spiritual attacks don’t always look like this one. In fact, I’ve not had one quite like that since. However, living in the Bible Belt, the enemy typically doesn’t need to go to such lengths to stop us from spreading the gospel. He simply has to make us busy, stir up drama in our churches or whisper a few lies to us about how we “deserve” to be treated so that we lash out when we are treated differently. Oof, stepped on my own toes there… I believe our attack overseas was so different because the above methods wouldn’t work there. He needed to use something stronger because we were little beacons of light headed into an area of heavy darkness. We were pointedly marching into enemy territory, and needed to be stopped — except we weren’t. The Lord is more powerful than any fiery dart the enemy throws at us. He’s our refuge in times of trouble (Nahum 1:7). He is greater than any scheme of the evil one, which means we win in the end (1 John 4:4)! Stay ready, friends. Pray always, and don’t be caught off guard like I was. "Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings" (1 Peter 5:8–9). © Stephanie M Other articles you might want to check out by Stephanie on Medium: Trauma, Sin and Breaking Cycles Quick Guide to Start Reading the Bible: 6 Books to Start With Today

unsplash.com By Guest Writer: Sienna Krieg Dear Non-Christians, I wanted to write this letter to you because you are loved. And I desperately hope you know that. There is so much hate and tension between us, and I want it gone. It’s tough to come to terms with Christianity, Jesus, and God. It’s tough to come to terms with atheism, agnosticism, and other beliefs. Let’s face it, it’s hard to comprehend beliefs that we are unfamiliar with. And it’s even harder to understand beliefs we strongly disagree with. I’ve been on both sides of the coin, one where I didn’t understand Jesus and the other, entirely devoting my life to Jesus. It’s really funny how life, or to me, God, works. Just when you think you really know something, a new revelation occurs that completely changes your worldview. The truth is, constantly getting humbled is a part of life. I’m writing this letter to acknowledge that not everything I say is correct. I have been aggressive about my standpoints in Christianity, and I apologize for that. I am passionate about Christ, and that will never change. But instead of being aggressive about it, I want to be gentle yet assertive. I know many other Christians struggle with gently talking to non-Christians. Many times, we are so passionate and caught up in ‘being right’ that we end up being hostile towards others. It’s a fine line that we cross, because for us, Jesus is ‘the truth, the way, the life’. Sometimes we get caught up in trying to win an argument, rather than gently planting seeds. My honest opinion is that you will encounter many other Christians who will be hostile towards you for your views, but you will also meet Christians who accurately spread God’s Word without trying to fight you. My hope is that you will not judge all Christians based on a few individuals, but rather judge each person individually. Everyone is on their own journey, and many have not yet learned to ‘be quick to listen, but slow to speak’ (James 1:19). Christians are not perfect, just as everyone else is not perfect. It’s uncomfortable facing the truth of our humanity, and I hope we can all at least agree with that. But I do want you to know, there is a God who loves you and is waiting for you. He will never turn away from you, and is hoping that you will come to Him. Even if you want to scream at Him, question Him, or talk to Him, He will be glad that you are at least having some sort of connection with Him. God loves it when you make an effort to know Him. And if you aren’t ready for that, take some time to ponder my love letter to you all. Ask me questions, challenge me in the comments. You might be confused about how this is a love letter, but I want you to know that you are loved, regardless of whether you believe in the Lord or not. I love you, my neighbor, and want to represent to YOU what Christ has done for me and countless others. You are wonderfully and uniquely made. I pray that this message finds you and plants a seed. Love, Sienna. © Sienna Krieg

What if the most important thing about you isn’t what you believe — but what story you’re living in? That might sound strange, especially to Christians used to thinking in terms of doctrines or worldviews. But beneath all that, every person is shaped by a story. Whether we realise it or not, we’re constantly drawing from some narrative to understand who we are, why the world is broken, and what we’re supposed to do about it. We’re not just minds that need facts. We’re humans who need meaning. And meaning always comes wrapped in a story. The stories we live by You’ve probably heard the modern ones. The progress story: We’re evolving past all those old ideas. One day, technology will solve everything. The freedom story: Be true to yourself. Break all the rules. Chase your desires and cut off whoever gets in the way. The activist story: The world is broken. But if we work hard enough, if we get angry enough, we’ll fix it. The pleasure story: Nothing really matters, so just enjoy yourself. Travel. Drink good wine. Document it all in square tiles. These stories are popular because they promise a lot. But they don’t deliver. The progress story can’t explain why we still hurt each other. The freedom story often leaves us isolated and anxious. The activist story burns people out. And the pleasure story feels hollow once the novelty wears off. You can try to live in these stories — but they’ll leave you tired, disillusioned, or numb. Sometimes all three. What we need is a story big enough to make sense of our longings and our losses. A story that’s not just emotionally satisfying, but actually true. That’s exactly what the Bible offers. The true myth C.S. Lewis once called Christianity “the true myth.” Not because it’s make-believe, but because it has the shape of the stories that have always moved us. A world made good. A fall into ruin. A promised hero. A great rescue. A future restored. It’s the story behind all the stories we love — but this one actually happened. It doesn’t ignore sorrow. It takes it seriously. It doesn’t offer escapism. It offers redemption. It doesn’t flatter us. It tells us the truth — that we are more broken than we care to admit, and more loved than we dared to hope. The cross is the plot twist no one saw coming: the King dies for the rebels. And the resurrection? That’s not a comforting end to the story — it’s the beginning of something entirely new. Why it matters If you’re a Christian, this isn’t just a story you believe. It’s the story you’re part of. That means your life has a shape — even when it feels directionless. Your suffering has a place — even when it doesn’t make sense yet. Your daily choices matter — not because they impress God, but because they’re part of a real narrative that’s heading somewhere. A story with a beginning, a climax, and a promised ending. And if you’re a writer, this is where it gets exciting. Because the world is starving for stories that ring true. Not just logically consistent, but emotionally real. Stories that don’t just diagnose the world’s pain, but offer something more than cynicism or self-help. You don’t have to write theology or Bible studies to tell the story of the gospel. You can write poetry. Memoir. Personal essays. Novels. Visual art. Letters. Whatever your form, let the true myth shape the way you see — and show — the world. Let your characters wrestle with grace. Let your metaphors echo resurrection. Let your prose remind people that beauty matters — because creation matters. We live in a world drowning in content but starving for meaning. We don’t need louder voices. We need deeper ones. So what story are you living in? That’s the question I keep coming back to. Because everyone lives by some kind of story. And only one of them is true. The Bible isn’t just a collection of comforting verses or ancient rules. It’s a narrative that explains why the world is beautiful and broken, why we long for justice and home, why death feels wrong and hope feels right. It doesn’t just offer answers. It offers meaning. It doesn’t just tell us what to believe. It tells us who we are. And it doesn’t just give us something to stand on. It gives us a story to live in — and to live for. This is not just a story to believe. It’s the story you were made for. What story have you been living in — and how did you know it wasn’t enough? I’d love to hear your thoughts. © Nathan Cole

© Jane Isley August 2025 You’ve read my words, but I began speaking with color, texture, and a camera first, creating narrative-style artwork to tell a story - her story. I held her when she was born, felt her fingers embrace my hand. Before pain made a home in her bones, before doctors and diagnoses. Then came the ache that my kiss could not cure. A silent, searing war beneath her skin. The kind that bends bones and tests all belief. She learned to count pain by hours and measure hope in breaths. But she never cursed the sky. She never let the darkness rewrite her soul. Scripture turned into lullabies for nights when sleep wouldn’t come. I watched her body betray her. I watched it try to dim her light. But it never died. Because something eternal was fueling her strength. I stood on the sidelines, sometimes strong, sometimes shattered. Watching a child become a warrior in slow motion. Her story is not one of defeat. It is not a tragedy. It’s a testimony. And I get to witness that miracle every day. © Jane Isley First published in Never Stop Writing on Medium.