Fantastical Storms

Sometimes people ask me what my favorite part about writing is. My answer always seems to shock them, for it's not about concocting fantasy realms or creating my own schedule or being able to work in my pajamas.

It's this: being able to share the Good News with those who may never pick up a Bible.

Hopefully, you'll see what I'm talking about (or rather Who I'm talking about) in this next excerpt:

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The wind whipped Mari’s hair across her face, splicing her sight and making the prince's profile—for he was standing with his back to them along the cliff’s edge, fearlessly still as the elements stormed around him—jagged and disjointed. It reminded her of the scars that were scattered along his body, the ones she could remember vividly, even if she was too far away to see them now.

Before Mari had time to interrupt the prince’s seaside contemplation with her infamous what’s going on here!? demand, he answered her:

“This is chol, the coast.”

His soft words could be heard clearly, despite the raging storm and the distance between them. Oakley's arm wrapped around her; she was glad for his shelter, keeping her rooted as she stared—half scared, half amazed—at the prince whose whisper overtook the thunder.

His scars started to shine, then the rest of him followed, alighting from the inside out. He was illuminating the night, and Mari couldn’t bear to turn her spliced sight away from him.

 When he turned to face them, Mari and Oakley trembled at the fire in his eyes.

“Follow me,” he said. And just like that, the storm stilled.

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Follow our storm-soothing Savior, friends. Never stop following Him.