I once read a very good book by one of my former professors called When People Are Big and God is Small. It’s about the sin many in church history have called “Fear of Man.” I read this entire book with a particular friend in mind, wanting to know what I could say to her to help her in her struggles with this. It wasn’t until the final pages that I realized that this was something that I myself wrestle with profoundly.
But the book was now done, I didn’t want to immediately re-read it, and so I had missed my place in the story; I had missed how it could have spoken to me and perhaps led me to some freedom and healing in this. Indeed, even though I’d hear the author lecture about it years later, I still write about and struggle with my “Fear of Man” issues today.
Have you ever had a similar experience of missing yourself in a story?