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Fiction, the frivolous kid brother

I think some people see fiction as the frivolous younger sibling of non-fiction. Non-fiction is the responsible grown-up with a real job in the real world, while fiction is the kid brother who goes adventuring in worlds that don’t even exist. In some circles, Kid Brother doesn’t get much respect.  (Granted, some versions of him don’t deserve respect.)

But sometimes when he’s leading me down a path that looks like it’ll be all fun and games–whoops!–suddenly he’s given me a whole new perspective on life.  On God.

Have you ever read a novel that changed your view of God and His ways?   For instance, maybe you’re not the type to believe in modern-day miracles but you find yourself warming to the possibility when you read Leif Enger’s Peace Like a River.

I’m not out to prove anything here.  I’m just curious, especially about the blindsides like a glimpse of Jesus in a fantasy-historical romance that I was reading only because one of my friends made me promise I would.  Now that book, Outlander, is on my keeper shelf.

I don’t know whether or not Diana Gabaldon intended for her readers to see what I saw in Outlander.  In a way, I hope it was unintentional on her part, because that’s one of the joys of fiction.  A good story can have layers that perhaps not even its author is aware of, and they can be more powerful than a carefully planned allegory.

If anybody wants to share some of their eye-opening adventures with Kid Brother, I’m interested.

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