For the past two years, the realities of life in a pandemic have posed enormous challenges for parents. In the best cases, masks and testing, remote learning and limited childcare have strained family rhythms and routines. In the worst, COVID has claimed the lives of loved ones, stirring our kids to wakefulness as they grieve and wrangle with questions that cut to the heart of their faith: Why would God allow a pandemic? Why didn’t he save my loved one? Is God really good?

Such questions are so vital to our children’s faith that parents can buckle under the pressure of how to respond. During such moments, we can first and always turn to Scripture, all of it breathed out by God and profitable for teaching (2 Timothy 3:16). When their own questions arose during the pandemic, a deep dive into the book of Job helped my kids appreciate that God works all things for the good of those who love him (Romans 8:28), even when we can’t comprehend his specific designs. I’ve been grateful to God for how his word has guided our kids during hard moments, anchoring them in the storm.

And in between the hard moments, I’ve also been grateful for another gift, far less weighty, but one that reflects the truths my kids read in Scripture: a hobbit, whose adventures in Middle-earth point our kids back to God’s word with every reading.

Gift of Stories

No fiction can replace God’s inspired word. Yet during these strange times, the right stories — those that applaud goodness in the face of terror, hope against all hope, and celebrate the just, true, and lovely (Philippians 4:8) — can help point our kids to the one true Story: Christ crucified and risen for us.

“The right stories can help point our kids to the one true Story: Christ crucified and risen for us.”

I first glimpsed the power of great stories to enrich our gospel teaching while reading The Fellowship of the Ring with my kids. My son and daughter munched peanut butter and jelly while Frodo and his companions fled across the bridge of Khazad-dûm. As Gandalf wheeled about to face the Balrog, my kids paused mid-bite and leaned in, enraptured. The bridge gave way; my kids leaned in farther. Then the Balrog’s whip lashed around Gandalf’s ankle. The beloved wizard urged the fellowship to save themselves, and then he sank into the abyss.

I paused and studied my kids warily. Finally, my son spoke up. “I think he gave himself for the others, Mum,” he said. “Kind of like Jesus did for us.”

Dozens of similar moments have since burst through our read-aloud time. An abridged version of Oliver Twist elicited comments about how we are made in God’s image (Genesis 1:26), are to love our neighbors as ourselves (Matthew 22:36–40), and are to extend compassion to the poor (Zechariah 7:10). The Ring of Power in The Lord of the Rings inspired conversations about sin, how it entices and then enslaves us, and how it burdened Frodo just as Christian’s pack encumbered him in Pilgrim’s Progress.

As we read The Voyage of the Dawn Treader on the couch, my little girl paused between mouthfuls of goldfish to smile as a gleaming albatross appeared in the sky to guide Lucy Pevensie out of danger. When Aslan’s voice boomed, “Courage, dear one,” my daughter remarked, “It’s kind of like the Holy Spirit appearing.” I wiped away tears.

J.R.R. Tolkien believed that such moments in narratives occur because the very best stories resonate with gospel truth. In his essay On Fairy Stories, he writes the following:

The peculiar quality of “joy” in successful Fantasy can thus be explained as a sudden glimpse of the underlying reality or truth. . . . It may be a far-off gleam or echo of evangelium in the real world. (77–78)

In other words, good stories delight us because they reflect the true Story — the Christian Story — and point us to the hope of the ultimate happy ending: our adoption as God’s children through Christ’s death and resurrection.

How do we reap these joys and wonders for our kids? How do we make the most of our read-aloud time, and point them to the true happy ending?

Give Them Scripture First

The fact that Tolkien has an enormous secular fan base illustrates that great stories alone can’t instruct us in the gospel. Stories can enliven the imagination and fan the sparks of a child’s understanding into flame — but we need to light those sparks first. Great stories will point to the gospel only if our kids first know God’s word.

“Great stories will point to the gospel only if our kids know God’s word.”

The Bible is clear that we’re to infuse our kids’ days with Scripture, allowing it to spill over into every moment as we walk in the way, lie down, and rise (Deuteronomy 6:6–7). It’s to seep into what we read with them, what we laugh about, what we share. The Bible informs how we live, not only during devotions, but in every moment of the day.

Teach your kids that God’s word is a lamp to their feet and a light to their path (Psalm 119:105). Then help them to perceive glimmers of his truth through stories.

Pick the Best Stories

How do we discern whether a story we read with our kids reflects the world, or the One who has overcome the world? Paul’s words on discernment can guide us:

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. (Philippians 4:8)

Seek books with pages that overflow with the true, pure, and lovely. Educator Charlotte Mason referred to “living books” as the sustenance for children’s minds, and described such literature as “the fit and beautiful expression of inspiring ideas and pictures of life” (Parents and Children, 263). Search for such books that explore our sinful nature with humility, point to our hope in Christ with reverence, and highlight the victory of good over evil. If you’re not sure, sites such as The Read-Aloud Revival offer helpful booklists and reviews.

Draw Out Gospel Themes

As you read with your kids, be alert to biblical themes. Look for the redemptive arc in each story — the character arc or plotline that points to our salvation in Christ. The following brief list includes some examples of redemptive arcs:

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: Aslan giving his life to save Edmund
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader: Aslan saving Eustace from his fate as a dragon
The Fellowship of the Ring: Gandalf giving his life for the fellowship
The Return of the King: Aragorn returning to rule over a kingdom made new
The Wingfeather Saga: Janner giving his life to save the Cloven

While these examples reflect the works of Christian authors, even less-overt literature can prove instructive if approached with discernment. Shakespearean tragedies vividly portray the destructive power of sin. Dickens stirs us to compassion for the poor, for widows, and for orphans (Deuteronomy 10:18; James 1:27). The Cricket in Times Square and Charlotte’s Web highlight love for neighbor and hope in despair. And Robinson Crusoe and The Swiss Family Robinson (we read the abridged versions) illustrate God’s faithfulness and provision.

Even the bad guys from Greek mythology can offer teachable moments: when we openly discuss the brutality and lasciviousness of Zeus, the false deity withers before the majesty, mercy, and holiness of the one true God.

Beyond the End

Great stories leave imprints upon the heart and mind that linger long after “The End.” Stories shape us, leaving marks that never fade. And when Christian themes weave through stories like glittering threads, those marks point our children to the hope that endures in the face of even the deepest darkness. The best stories point us to the one true Story, the greatest Story of all. The best stories point us to Christ.

And the ending of his Story is perfect. It will never disappoint. It flows like a cool cup of living water, ushering us to eternal life. The King, the One who bore our burdens (Isaiah 53:4), will return. The cursed ring will burn up. And in this ending, the greatest of all happy endings, we will dwell in the house of the Lord forever (Psalm 23:6).

At the end of his life, my friend David leaned into Christ’s promise of rest. The hope he drew from that promise so comforted him that he spent his last moments witnessing to others.

He’d endured a long, arduous struggle with end-stage emphysema. For months he ricocheted back and forth between the hospital and rehab, and wrestled with fear, doubt, and exhaustion as the simple act of breathing became a burden. “I’m so tired,” he would say, between gasps of air. “I just wish I knew what God is doing.”

Yet even when David could barely breathe, he felt an urgency to share the hope and peace he gleaned from the gospel, so he diligently planned a funeral that would offer Christian hope to all in attendance. When my kids and I visited him the day before he died, we found him sitting at a table with his laptop open to a letter he wanted read during the service. He passed into Jesus’s arms a little over 24 hours later.

I was privileged to read the passages he chose for his funeral, and tears sprang to my eyes when I saw his most cherished verse among them. It was a verse that had offered him a cool cup of water in arid times, and he now ensured that it would be offered to the gathered mourners so that they too might find comfort: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:28–29).

Seeking a Hidden Rest

In our world that prizes productivity over stillness, rest seems an alluring but ever-elusive gift. A startling number of Americans struggle with sleep deprivation, and more than half of American employees report symptoms of workplace burnout.

The tourism industry in the United States generates over one trillion dollars in revenue each year, as we flee our hometowns with the hope that ocean breezes, mountain air, or a change in scenery might finally calm our frayed nerves. Inevitably, when the vacation weeks fly by, and we return home sunburned, weary, and deflated, we wonder how the refreshment we sought has escaped us yet again. While our Lord calls us to “be still” and know he is God (Psalm 46:10), we never seem to find the time.

Meanwhile, the travails of life exhaust us. Businesses fail. Disasters strike. Loved ones fall ill, and some die. Our bodies wither and break, and our hopes along with them. Pain and loneliness, grief and worry weigh down our souls, and we find ourselves broken, parched, exhausted, and yearning for stillness. For relief. For rest — that cool cup of water that never seems to come.

Fallen from Rest

We yearn for rest because God made us in his image, and he set apart a day of rest during creation (Genesis 1:26; 2:2). As reflections of him, we too must pause from our labors and revel in his goodness. Sadly, no matter how diligently we strive, or how ardently we yearn, such rest slips from our grasp over and over, because although we’re made to rest, we’re also fallen in sin.

“Wrenched from fellowship with our loving Father, weary in our sins, we toil and ache for rest.”

God provided rest from the first, walking with Adam and Eve “in the cool of the day” (Genesis 3:8). Yet in their rebellion, our first parents unleashed sin into the world, and in so doing, tore us from the respite with the Lord for which we were made. Since the fall, sin has tainted our work, and dragged down our efforts with weariness: “Cursed is the ground because of you; in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life. . . . By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground” (Genesis 3:17, 19).

Wrenched from fellowship with our loving Father, weary in our sins, we toil and ache for rest. We pine for relief, but find we are “like the tossing sea, for it cannot be quiet, and its waters toss up mire and dirt” (Isaiah 57:20).

Since the fall, mankind has secretly yearned for the peace that comes not from the toil of our own hands, but from communion with the loving, sovereign Creator who gives us life and breath and everything else (Acts 17:25). And over millennia, the prophets have clung to God’s promise that while we can’t usher in that rest ourselves, he would pave a path for us. He would save us.

God’s Promised Rest

Lamech hoped God would bring this relief through his son, Noah: “Out of the ground that the Lord has cursed, this one shall bring us relief from our work and from the painful toil of our hands” (Genesis 5:29). Moses and Joshua hoped for respite in Canaan.

Yet even after the floodwaters receded, or the walls of Jericho crumbled to the ground, mankind largely remained sinful, restless, and alienated from the God of rest. Hundreds of years later, God describes Israel as “a people who go astray in their heart, and they have not known my ways. Therefore I swore in my wrath, ‘They shall not enter my rest’” (Psalm 95:10–11).

Still, through his prophets God promised an eternal jubilee, an ultimate Sabbath, when those who mourn would be comforted, and righteousness and praise would “sprout up before all nations” (Isaiah 61:11). He promised freedom from sin and the sweet relief of communion, at last, with our holy God, “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Exodus 34:6).

He promised rest in Christ.

Rest for Our Souls

Jesus invites those who are weary, burdened, and heavy laden to savor the rest he offers (Matthew 11:28-30). Relief from the yoke of the law and from our toilsome labors. Rest for the soul. The restoration of God with his children, to abide together in his rest for all eternity.

Right now, we live on in a sin-stricken world. But when Christ returns, God will dwell among us, and “he will wipe away every tear, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Revelation 21:4).

“Jesus invites those who are weary, burdened, and heavy laden to savor the rest he offers.”

Although we stoop with weariness, when we place our faith in Christ, we have assurance. Jesus will return. He has overcome (John 16:33). “So then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from his” (Hebrews 4:9–10).

During his walk upon the earth, my friend David endured homelessness, drug addiction, breathlessness, and the despair of a life whittled away by disease. Yet, ultimately none of these hardships overcame the promise God gave him in Christ: rest for his weary soul. The world wore him down, but Christ promised an easy yoke. A light burden. A heart, mind, and body made new by God’s grace, through faith alone, in Christ alone.

The effects of sin strangle us. The woes we carry crush us. But in Christ, we who labor and are heavy laden find rest for our souls. And in him, we have hope.