The Banzai Chronicles

A story I forgot to tell: one morning while camping last week, two of the little boys with our party fought it out with invisible bad guys in the shallows of the lake. While their armaments were inelegant ("poop bombs" and "turd blasters"), they went into battle as comrades, earnest and valiant. The forces of evil made a few comebacks and unleashed a surprise or two, but in short order the day was won. The heroes celebrated with joy, shouting their victory back to the shore.

As I watched, I realized that, created in the image of God, we are each of us authors. As life carries on, some try to do the final imagining of believing they cannot write, but that illusion can be easily shattered by two small boys waistdeep in a lake. We tell stories, larger than ourselves, because this is what we were created for.

Perhaps imagination is the most deeply Godlike thing about us, and if so, it may also be able to fall the most powerfully. My imagination can be dominated by God, filling the landscape with faith, hope, and love. It can also be dominated by fear, fear that He is not, or that He is not powerful enough, or good enough, or loving enough. Does my imagining place me in this world as an orphan, left to fend for myself, seek pleasure, and avoid pain? Or am I a son, holy and dearly loved by my Abba?

The sanctification of my imagination seems like a God-sized task, requiring omnipotence and eternity to accomplish. Thankfully, He has both.