I Know God's a Writer

On second thought, maybe I'm wrong

Photo by lilartsy on Unsplash

I’m convinced God is a writer.

I find evidence of this truth every time I open my Bible. The poetry, structure, and figurative language that fill its pages exemplify a God who not only cares for content—but beauty. Even more, the entire narrative of biblical history itself highlights the masterful way God has weaved the greatest story—not with fictional characters, but with real-life rulers, people groups, and families. In our very history we find harmony, repetition, foreshadowing, climactic reversals, and satisfying endings. The Lord has written it all. And he’s not done.

Each gripping novel I finish builds my anticipation for the beautiful ending I know God is authoring right now—this very second in this world. I squeeze my children close and tell them that like every great writer, our Lord is doing a thing far greater than we could have dreamed. His beautiful ending will come, and I promise them it’s worth it.

Yet God’s prose isn’t contained by Scripture and history—I see it at play constantly throughout his world. He’s written his words across the face of the earth. I find his metaphors in the budding flowers, his analogies in a falling seed. I listen to his poetry in the tune of the songbird, and get jolted by the strength of his message in the burning sun slipping beneath the horizon.

The more I learn about writing—form, literary devices, flow, narrative, symbolism—the more I see the way God employs them. I know God is a writer.

But I could also be wrong.

Because while I stare up at the stars and read the metaphors they sing of light and darkness; suffering and hope—my husband sees numbers, calculations, and improbabilities. He sees God—the engineer—who ordered each planet and star within the universe with care, and provided the exact tilt, position, and heat to hold us here. He catches a glimpse of the God who governs the orbits of every planet so that on a Tuesday night we can catch sight of Jupiter through our telescope or a glimpse of the thin rings of Saturn.

My husband watches the plane above our head and marvels with awe I’ve never experienced. He sees lift combined with air speed and thrust. Like a machine that works perfectly, each variable operates together to keep a million pounds of metal suspended in the air. And my husband wonders at the God who created flight and physics, and how he built so perfectly the tools for it in the bird soaring above us on the thermals.

To my husband, God is a builder whose rock formations, canyons, and mountains cut into the horizon like an architect’s masterpiece. Though I see their songs, stories, and poetry—he sees their impossibility, particularity, and craftsmanship.

Of course, we’re both right. God is far more than any one description. We just tend to see more of his beauty down the avenues we love—the ones we know. My years spent writing has tuned my ear to catch the way the Lord demonstrates his own writing chops—how his poetry and beauty spill out of his world. In turn, my husband, who spends time problem solving, building, and dealing with the particulars of spreadsheets and numbers, notices the way the Lord orders every minute detail to perfect harmony.

Perhaps this is one more area where the gift of hobbies becomes apparent. See, when we study and practice a skill we get the chance to dip into new areas of knowledge, and these areas offer one more dimension in which to recognize the beauty of our God.

The mom who who spends her free time washing paints across a paper is more prepared to notice the way God’s painted the white and pink orchid in the garden. She’ll spot the lines of the bare winter trees and the symmetry of a leaf. She might notice the contrasting colors in a flower and appreciate shades of color she once brushed by. The more she learns about her craft—color mixing, use of textures, and use of line—the more she will see God as an artist.

It’s important to note, this is no secret knowledge of God that we concoct on our own. We don’t name him what the Bible has said he is not. Instead, it’s just his revealed knowledge that we hadn’t quite understood until we learned what good art, writing, construction, or craftsmanship entails.

Those activities that fill up your day have given you a unique perspective of God’s character. Maybe you’ve seen him as the greatest caretaker while you care for the chickens in your backyard. Maybe you’ve known him as the wisest mathematician after working through the next level of Sudoku puzzles or gazing at the stars each night. Your years spent at the piano might have tuned your ear to God the musician who has sung his song throughout the world.

We’ll never run out of these descriptions. We can keep on proclaiming them—to ourselves—yes, but then we need to proclaim them to each other. Because I need to be reminded that God is not only a writer, and my husband needs to be reminded he is not only an engineer.

He’s so much more. Would you tell it?