The Shack, a follow-up story

I read this novel by William P. Young a couple of months ago and was blown away by the freshness of a new vision of God and Christianity that I found there. I know it has caused A LOT of controversy, but I loved it. I won't go as far as saying everyone should read it: If you don't want to, that's fine. However, please don't criticise the book unless you've actually read it. There's nothing worse than folk who form opinions based on other people's opinions, rather than looking out the facts for themselves.

I found the author's website today and on it was this conversation, between God (a female named Papa) and himself, titled "The Beauty of Ambiguity" which I loved too:

I am back in the warmth of the cabin, watching through the window as early spring rains drench the surrounding landscape, low hanging clouds darkening the day. A late snow is coming, but not quite yet. Even though the fire crackles and snaps as it eats through its main course, I still snuggle deeper into the heaviness of the quilt that Papa left for me. She is soon back with a cup of tea, something that smells of wood and mint and a hint of jasmine. I grin. She knows me best, and whatever it is that she is handing me, I trust.

“Rough week, eh?” she asks, as if she doesn’t already know.

I take a sip. It’s very hot, just the way I like it, and the flavor is perfect for the dreary day and for my mood. I swallow the warmth and can feel it fall inside and reach fingers of comfort into even the hidden places.

“Yeah,” I respond.

“Want to talk about it?” she coaxes, sitting down with her own cup of something that I can smell is at least part coffee.

“Nope…and yes.” I don’t really know where to start and she’s patient. I love just being with Papa, knowing that he knows, even before I say anything and yet respectful as she waits. I still don’t know where to start and finally she helps me with a little verbal push.

“The book seems to be doing well?” I look up and she is grinning. Papa is talking about The Shack, the little fiction story that I wrote for my children.

“Not because of anything I’m doing,” I grunt. “It’s doing it all on its own.”

“Nothing or no one does anything on its own, not even me.” The statement makes me smile and I am comforted in the knowledge that Jesus and Sarayu are also present though unseen. Her observation is one of those invitations to go deeper, but I decline and go another direction.

read the rest

© Fiona L Cooper 2008