By Pierce Taylor Hibbs
08.16.2022 | Min Read

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Every story is an invitation. It’s a call to listen, to pick up a melody and follow it—somehow both in this world and outside of it at the same time. This applies both to fiction and nonfiction, since both require us to leave the shore of the present and walk out on a jetti of words.

But this call of stories, out on the waters of imagination, does so much more than keep our attention. Stories define and direct us. I don’t mean that who we are is based on the types of stories we like most. I mean, in a deeper sense, that we only know how to exist, how to live, in stories. The fact that we don’t know what’s going to happen today doesn’t mean our life has no plot—no leading roles or climatic action and suspense; it just means we don’t know how the plot will unfold yet. But we assume, from the moment we open our eyes each morning, that it will unfold, that we are in a story.

For Christians, it’s the story that God has told about himself and his dealings with the world, a story of gardens and fruit, of giants and spears, of kings and queens, of prophecies and rewards, of one great and deep longing for a Messiah. And yet all of the action, and even the environment of the story itself—every detail of time and place—is wrapped up in God’s identity, in who he is, what he’s like, what he plans to do, how deeply and fiercely he loves.

We are still in that story. The plot is rolling on. We find our identity and purpose in this story; it defines and directs us, and it does so by relating us to the storyteller. That’s the same for adults as it is for kids. It’s just that kids are better at remembering it.

Let me sketch out a few important ways in which kids need stories, and a few ways in which their parents need them, too.

Kids Need Stories


When I asked my nine-year-old son why he likes reading books, his answer was perfectly simple: “Because they’re exciting and give you something to look forward to.” This may sound as if stories are a bonus in life, an extra, something added to a more basic set of needs and wants. But that’s not the case. And I think the reason why is in the wording of my son’s answer, when you look closely.

Excitement isn’t peripheral to life; it’s why we wake up. It’s the word hanging behind that simple morning refrain, “What are we doing today?” The same argument that people apply to culture in general applies to stories. The beauty of truth, the wild freedom of adventure, the longing for justice, the hope of courage—these aren’t just the things people live for; they’re the things people die for. They are that important. The excitement kids have in getting into a good story is helping their little souls stare at what features of character they want to emulate in their own lives. Their passion is paramount, because people will chase after passion with tenacity. What’s buried in a child’s heart will find its way to the surface. One possible paraphrase of Luke 6:43 is, “The good child out of the good stories in his heart produces good.” Stories plant the passion; they seed the heart-soil.

Stories also give kids something to look forward to. In other words, they give the gift of anticipation. Anticipation for something good, exciting, and mysterious is a powerful thing. It’s a call ahead, a call to look into the distance and find light there. It’s analogous in many ways to hope, and that’s a trademark of the Christian life—for kids as much as for the rest of us. Each of our days could end with the psalmist’s language, “I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope” (Ps. 130:5). The anticipation that accompanies a good story lays a strong foundation for hope, “and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (Rom. 5:5). The greatest story our kids should look forward to is the one that starts in eternity.

The excitement and hope of stories are deeply related to our identity and purpose as Christians.

We Need Stories


What I’ve said about kids applies to their parents, too. That’s not surprising, either. C. S. Lewis wrote, “a children’s story which is enjoyed only by children is a bad children’s story.”1 As parents, we may not have the exact same excitement and hope tied to stories, but it’s not far off. We, like children, need stories to define and direct us. And the stories we read to them, at their best, point back to the great story in which we’ve living, God’s story. That story should fill us with awe and wonder—the same sort that captured our toddler imaginations.

As parents, we have this embarrassing habit of trying to convince ourselves and others that we’ve grown up. We don’t need stories anymore. We’ve left them behind and moved on to more important things. C. S. Lewis had something to say about that, too. And he put it into imagery. “A tree grows because it adds rings: a train doesn’t grow by leaving one station behind and puffing on to the next.”2What did he mean? As we move from children to adulthood, we gain richness in experience. We add to what we already have, as a tree adds a ring each year. We aren’t trains who leave behind one station of life in order to get to the next one. That wouldn’t be growth. That wouldn’t be maturity. Maturity means you gain.

As parents, we may have experienced more of God’s great story than our kids (though our kids will have their own unique experiences). We can see Christ-conforming purpose in places where our kids might only see fear or discomfort or turmoil. It’s our honor to use the stories we’ve read to point them back to the real great story of Scripture, to the savior who never leaves them or forsakes them. But also—though it’s painful—to the savior who, by his own Spirit, has called us to be shaped to him for great things. We take stories, point our kids to the grand story, and then encourage them to add another tree ring, just as we do.

Some Wonderful Stories

Here are some great classic and contemporary stories that may help excite you and your kids for years to come, starting with the greatest story.

Citations
1 C. S. Lewis, “On Three Ways of Writing for Children,” The Chronicles of Narnia (New York: HarperCollins, ), 771.
2 Lewis, “On Three Ways of Writing for Children,” 772.