The boy was very curious as to what caused the clicking sound. Seeing that several small screws held a cover on the ratchet, he decided to remove the cover and see how it worked. Immediately when the cover came off, a small spring went flying off into the darkness under the workbench. No amount of searching could locate the spring.

Maybe the missing spring won’t matter. The cover was replaced, but now the clicking noise was gone. The ratchet mechanism could be turned either direction without any clicking or resistance. It was useless.

Panic set in. What will dad say? Looking around for a solution, he noticed the empty rainwater cistern right outside the garage door. In a flash, the useless ratchet disappeared down through the hole in the cistern cover.

It wasn’t more than a day or two until his dad needed the ratchet. It couldn’t be found anywhere, and no one seemed to know what had happened to it. Searching was fruitless, and it wasn’t too long before his dad gave up on ever finding it. Some months or years later, when the cistern was being cleaned out the missing ratchet was found again—rusty and still useless. The dad was gracious and forgiving.

True story, as they say.

For years, I have told that story to my kids and grandkids and as my own personal experience—noting the many lessons to be learned from the mistakes I made. They loved it.

Then, just two years ago, I sat with my younger brother and listened as he told someone else that very story, almost word for word—but with himself as the main character. I sat with my jaw on my chest, trying to decide what to say or do. That day, I didn’t say or do anything.

Who is lying? Who is telling the truth? Is any of that story real?

Just a few days ago, I finally told him about my perspective in all of this. We laughed and concluded that we’re still learning lessons from that story.

Something really happened in that garage that day. That’s a reality.

My brother and I have had (for over 50 years) very different perceptions of that reality. If there had been security cameras installed, we might be able to answer some of our ongoing questions about it all.

What is the difference between reality, and my perception of reality?

What was real that day?

• A boy was playing in a garage (or, was it two boys?)
• A tool was made useless
• Intense emotions followed: fear, regret, more fear
• Unseen forces had an impact—past experiences, spiritual beings, mind games, assumptions

No story, created with words, can possibly fully describe the entire reality of that day. However, the story still has tremendous usefulness—even if all the facts cannot be known.

If my brother and I were to become combative about the details and the ownership of the story, it would lose its usefulness. Because we care a lot about each other, we have chosen to honour each other. So there’s no need to determine that someone is lying, or spreading fake news.

So what has been going on with our two versions of the same reality?

I suggest there are at least four layers to how we engage with reality and story:

1. The Reality: what actually exists or happens
2. The Story: how that reality is described with words and other symbols
3. The Perception: what I visualize, understand, and internalize
4. The Retelling: how I describe my perceptions to another

I think all of the above corresponds to how we Christians interact with the core realities of our faith, to reading and understanding the Bible, and in describing to others what it’s all about:

1. The Reality is God in Jesus Christ: God’s perspective, thoughts, actions, character, and intentions are the sum total of The Reality—Absolutely
2. The Story: The Bible is a supernaturally-inspired, partial description, and window into The Reality; the Bible is not The Reality; it necessarily has the limitations of language and human communication; it is entirely adequate and trustworthy—if we understand its purpose
3. The Perception: in my human weaknesses and limitations, by God’s grace I am able to visualize, understand, and internalize a version of The Reality that keeps improving with an intention to learn and expand my perception
4. The Retelling: in a unique blend of confidence and humility, we do our best to point others toward The Reality—not toward our Perception, nor even toward The Story itself as an end goal

My Perception of a reality is not exactly the same as the reality. I don’t have the capacity to see all sides of the object or idea at once. That knowledge is the basis for caution, humility, and for trust in a God who can see it fully.

I grew up in a generation in which, too often, Perception was proclaimed as Reality. That still happens. You’ve probably heard the saying, “God said it. I perceive it. And that settles it.” Or, maybe I misquoted that saying a little bit.

Today, there’s a different type of proclaiming: it’s the idea that we can’t know reality, not with confidence. And so it is arrogant to tell others of our perception of the story. We have “your truth” and we have “my truth.”

So how do we confidently point others in the right direction, without creating too much confusion around our individual and incomplete perceptions of truth and reality?

In the Bible, 1 John 1 is a beautiful example of how a careful retelling of The Story points us to The Reality. I think this illustrates how the Church can confidently participate in retelling a story we don’t completely or accurately perceive as individuals.

“That which was from the beginning,  which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we looked upon and have touched with our hands, concerning the word of life—the life was made manifest, and we have seen it, and testify to it and proclaim to you the eternal life…” Read it all here.

I hope this post encourages you to press on, to consistently improve your perception of The Reality, to partner with the Church to humbly retell your helpful-but-incomplete version of The Story, and thereby inspire others toward eternal life—the ultimate reality.

I am still recovering from a pretty serious head injury, nearly six weeks ago. I fell flat on my back, off a ladder and onto a concrete floor. I didn’t suffer any spinal injury. I did break my skull in 3 places, and bruised the little brain inside. One friend said, “The angels must have put padding under your back before you hit the floor.” I said, “But they missed getting it there in time for my head.”

For years, I’ve had an answer for other people’s experiences in this category. Actually, I still tell myself the same answer. Because that answer seems to fit when I consider the stories of real people recorded in the Bible; and it seems to fit in real life, now.

Without experiences, we have no story. Without story, we only have a religion.

When God (or whatever coincidence or smarts we imagine) spares us completely from an injury or casualty we don’t even realize, we have no story. We haven’t learned anything.

On the other hand, every experience is the beginning of a story. And painful experiences seem to write the most profound stories.

My lightweight story of pain seems nothing in comparison to what others have experienced–from the suffering of believers in the Church around the world, or the losses that some of my close friends have felt through sickness and death. There have been times I have literally envied the evidence of a more passionate love for Jesus that came directly from a story of severe suffering. Of course, I quickly came back to my senses.

However, we don’t decide what elements go into our own stories. We only choose what our story means, in the ultimate scheme; we choose how it shapes our view of life, of the purpose of life, of the essence of our life in Christ.

The powerful stories of people, both in Scriptures and in the world we experience, prove to me that God grows people in astounding ways through their story—a story that always includes unexpected pain.

Through life-changing experiences, we have a story. With a faith-based interpretation of story, we can joyfully grow toward the ultimate prize—a life of full partnership with Jesus.