Photo courtesy of (Picture by Kate Greenway)

In lieu of the really thought-provoking responses I’ve been getting to my post about miracles, I thought I’d tie it into the thing that’s been on my mind lately:  Easter.  For me, Easter isn’t about little fluffy bunnies jumping around in fields of lilies (although that is an adorable image).  I am reminded of brutal murder.  A bloody cross, the darkness that surrounded a death.  But I am also reminded of a miracle, the greatest love the world has ever seen (literally), and the triumph of death being beaten down, where it no longer holds any victory over us.

The resurrection.  It’s glorious, miraculous.  And I believe it.  So how does this relate back to miracles?  Here’s one of the comments that really struck me (courtesy of @Megziepoo):

“…in our writing, I think it’s may be okay to let our character’s have “miracles” if the rest of reality is still reality. Of course genre fiction in that the “reality” is set apart from our own. Yet even in other galaxies and worlds, if there is not the emotional, social, and spiritual reality of our “real” world, then those books become a story that is not only fictional in it’s characters and settings, but in it’s emotion…”

When Jesus died, He took away our guilt and the power of sin.  But yet we still sin.  Reality is still reality, and we are not yet perfect, but still being crafted into the image of God (2 Cor. 3:18). 

What do you think of characters that, even if they have witnessed an undeniable miracle, still refuse to see the hand of God behind it?  After all, if we are mirroring reality in our writing, men will often blind themselves and would rather believe ridiculous things than accept Truth.  I always think of seeling hawks (see unbulleted paragraph under “How hawks were trained for falconry”) from Shakespeare’s time.  It’s a gross but potent image.  As writers, we tend to like happy endings of some sort.  What happens when characters purposefully blind themselves to what we want them to see?