“Then it was you who wounded Aravis?”
“It was I.”
“But what for?”
“Child,” said the Voice, “I am telling you your own story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.”
–C. S. Lewis, The Horse and His Boy
And He only tells us our stories, sometimes, in very small pieces; He doesn’t always answer when we ask “What for?” even about ourselves; He tells them in ways we wouldn’t choose, tells things out-of-our-order, outside-our-plans. Yet all our days were written in His book before one of them came to be, and these stories of ours are fearfully and wonderfully told.
©2013 by Stacy Nott