God wants to build you a house whereof the walls shall be goodness; you want a house whereof the walls shall be comfort. But God knows that such walls cannot be built; that kind of stone crumbles away in the foolish workman’s hands.
— George MacDonald, Wisdom to Live By, p. 16
It is always a relief to be reminded that my job is not to control, or judge, or change my son, but simply to help him remember, with words and touch, who he really is. Loving him this way, I am better able to find within myself the faith and patience necessary to survive his painful transformations. I know to hold a space for his beauty, even when it slips from sight. And I come a little bit closer to understanding his true essence, to remembering the goodness that resides just beneath the surface of even his very worst behavior, behavior that is usually rooted in fear and confusion and self-protection.
— Katrina Kenison, The Gift of an Ordinary Day, p. 169-170
God gave man power to thwart his will, that, by means of that same power, he might come at last to do his will in a higher kind and way than would otherwise have been possible to him.
— George MacDonald, Wisdom to Live By, p. 12
I believe in stories. The world has enough dogma. It’s stories we need more of, stories that reverence the still, small voice that sings our life. As Anthony de Mello observed, “The shortest distance between a human being and Truth is a story.” Jesus, himself, told stories about the most common things in the world: a lost sheep, a seed that falls on rocky ground, a woman who sweeps her house in search of a coin, a man whose son runs away from home.
All personal theology should begin with the words: Let me tell you a story.
— Sue Monk Kidd, Firstlight, p. 34-35
This is, after all, a love story.
Why else would love be the deepest yearning of our hearts?
Isn’t love the greatest joy of human existence? And the loss of love our greatest sorrow? Do not the two great commands confirm this? “Love the Lord your God with all your heart . . . and your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). Love, for this is your destiny. Love God, and love each other. The banners that fly over God’s kingdom are the banners of love. It’s not about Bible study and faithful church attendance, not even dutiful marriage. Take the heart out of all that and it will absolutely kill you. This story is meant to be a passionate love affair. “I have loved you,” God says, “with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness” (Jeremiah 31:3).
We live in a love story, a romance written before the foundations of the earth. Aren’t the most impassioned pleas of the Bible directed toward love?
— John and Stasi Eldredge, Love & War, p. 27
Were it possible for God to forgive an unforgiving man, the man himself would not be able to believe for a moment that God did forgive him, and therefore could get no comfort or help or joy of any kind from the forgiveness; so essentially does hatred, or revenge, or contempt, or anything that separates us from man, separate us from God too.
— George MacDonald, Wisdom to Live By, p. 12
The inner tale transforms by reorienting us to new truth and insight, breaking open the hidden holy that dwells in our experience. The word story actually means “to know.” In the act of creating story there is always an event of coming to know. God surprises us with glimpses and truths we did not grasp until we tried to tell the story. As we shape the experience, an “aha!” emerges, a revelation.
— Sue Monk Kidd, Firstlight, p. 19
It is the kindest thing God can do for his children sometimes, to let them fall in the mire. They would not hold by their Father’s hand; they struggled to pull away; he let them go, and there they lay. But when they stretch forth the hand to him again, he will take them, and clean, not their garments only, but their heart, and soul, and consciousness. Pray to your Father, my child. He will change your humiliation into humility, your shame into purity.
— George MacDonald, Wisdom to Live By, p. 6
God is tender — just like the prodigal’s father — only with this difference, that God has millions of prodigals, and never gets tired of going out to meet them and welcome them back, everyone as if he were the only prodigal son He had ever had. There’s a Father indeed.
— George MacDonald, Wisdom to Live By, p. 4
Does it seem inconsistent with the character of God that in order that sin should become impossible he should allow sin to come into the world? Is it not possible that, in order that his creatures should choose the good and refuse the evil, in order that they might become such with their whole nature infinitely enlarged, as to turn from sin with a perfect repugnance of the will, he should allow them to fall? Why would he not, in order that, from being sweet childish children they should become noble, childlike men and women, let them try to walk alone?
— George MacDonald, Wisdom To Live By: Nuggets of Insight from All Collected Works, edited by Michael Phillips, p. 4