In the evenings, the small folk pile on the couch around and on top of my husband for story time. Dan Frontier, The Wizard of Oz, Johnny Tractor—now that they’ve finished the Little House series, it’s a different selection every night. And it’s always good incentive to finish their dinner so bath time can be followed by story time.

Whether it’s about a hunter on the frontier, or a girl far from home, the stories capture their attention, taking their little imaginations far and wide.

Hours later, the sun set, the dishes done, the children quiet (at least for the moment), my husband and I finally put our heads to our pillows. It’s too hot to sleep, so we turn up an audio book. The Scarlet Pimpernel was last summer’s tale; this summer we’re listening to The Tales of Larkin.

Like the little ones, our minds are stretched as we travel back to the French revolution with a cunning man daring to rescue many who are condemned to die. Then we’re laughing at the antics of inch-tall warriors who are fighting to rescue a princess and believe in a Maker Who died to save us.

Big or little, real or imaginary, the stories make the world feel big—and make us feel small. The tales, they put time and things into perspective: like the Larkin, we’re small people serving a big, big God.

^{Five-Minute Friday Prompt: “Small”}