Over at The High Calling, Alia Joy has a lovely meditation on the power of words and stories:
I can’t imagine living in a world where words couldn’t speak to me and rewrite my truth, and I suppose my dad couldn’t either. I don’t know what causes some souls to hunger and ache to know, but he surely did. He wanted to know, or maybe to be known. Don’t we all want that just a little bit? Don’t we all want to understand ourselves and to be understood? So, my dad found solace in books. He read himself out of his seventh grade skills and into a world born new. He devoured books as if they could nourish the lost parts of his childhood; as if they could mentor him to manhood—educate the poor right out of his life. And in so many ways, they did.