1. That sense of untamed wonder, of joyful fear, is what’s always drawn me to fantasy.  That startled, heady realization that the world is wider and wilder than I’d ever imagined.  The chill that smites me when I encounter something my waking mind can’t encompass.  When my reasoning is stymied and my insecure rationality falls silent.  When I stand in awe.

    I think that, as Christians, our highest interaction with fantasy is to direct that kind of awe at the uncontainable God we so often relegate to stuffy sanctuaries and tedious tomes.  Because He’s not tame, not predictable, and not beholden to the likes of me.  There’s no one I oughta fear more, and no one I oughta be more glad to see.

  2. Steve Taylor says:

    I can relate as one growing up with alligators in every available body if fresh water.  I have always looked at them as dragons or dinosaurs.  Now as one who spends more time in the mountains I look at bears as giant protectors of the forest (who hopefully will ignore me as I walk by with food in my pack). 

  3. Kessie says:

    I think that’s why I love dragons–in theory. Seeing an alligator that big in real would send me running in the opposite direction! The same with reading accounts of people who have seen sea monsters–the wonder and terror is why they forget to take a picture. 
    I love that in books. The oh-my-gosh-what-is-that feeling. As an urban kid who always wished for horses and wolves, I might as well wish for dragons, too.

  4. notleia says:

    My family still owns the piece of land my great-grandfather staked in the Land Run, and it borders on a river. Awhile ago we were derping around while Dad was assessing how much of the fence line had eroded, and we spotted a water moccasin bobbing and weaving as it crossed the river, part swimming, part being pushed by the slight current. Of course, my thoughts were “[bleep], [bleep], [bleep]-ing cottonmouth!” And this story has no real point besides to establish some kind of credibility when I say, you freakin’ Georgian heathens and your misspelling Okmulgee like that. 😛

  5. bainespal says:

    Snow used to do it for me as a kid. Snowflakes are so fine and intricate — you can see the complexity of a snowflake on the finger of your glove. Your pastor uses the complexity of snowflakes to remind the congregation of the greatness of God’s design. And the irony between this and the creation theory of the canopy of vapor that caressed the young warm Earth before the Flood is honestly joyful  to you as a child, before you learned to be cynical.
    This winter was a cold one. There’s something inherently other about subzero temperatures on a dim, clear morning, waiting outside for the bus. The way your breath sticks in your throat, how the dryness of the air is tangible — it’s not comfortable, but it’s more alien than agonizing, at least in the short term.
    Suck on that, Southerners!

    • Julie D says:

      I went outside to get the mail the other day (living in the country, this requires a 0.2 mile hike), and my throat was burning from the cold. Alien atmosphere, in a way.

What do you think?