Have you ever finished a mystery story, admired the final twist, and then forgotten the story a few minutes later? How about a book you've read that you still remember years later? Perhaps you've gone back to it and read it repeatedly. What is the difference between these books that elicits such a different response?

One thing you'll notice in my novel, What Remains After, and in the short stories on my blog is that I don't write about superheroes. I write about ordinary people who find themselves in extraordinary circumstances and are compelled to act. That's what courage often looks like in real life. The people who change or even save lives rarely wear uniforms or capes. More often, they're neighbors, teachers, pastors, relatives, foster parents, friends, or even strangers who choose not to look away.

Most stories in modern literature focus on the crisis moment and the great emotional reveal: the crime and the confrontation between the protagonist and the antagonist, the disaster or the escape from it. But eventually, another question naturally emerges:

What happens afterward?

Most people assume that after someone has experienced trauma, the deepest wound is the original harm they endured. Sometimes that is the case. But often, another wound follows. It occurs when someone tells their story and is not believed.

Most writers begin a story with a clear idea of what they are creating. They know the plot, at least in broad strokes, if not in every detail. They've developed character profiles and may have even made character boards for them on Pinterest or sketched out how the characters look. They understand the central conflict, though it may change as they begin writing. They usually know the ending, though this may change during the writing process.

There is a truth many people feel but are afraid to acknowledge aloud: faith itself can be wounded. A person’s trust in God, sense of safety with Him, and understanding of who He is can be harmed by painful experiences. This is especially true when those experiences involve betrayal, suffering, unanswered prayer, or abuse committed in God’s name.

If you've ever shared something deeply personal or important and been dismissed or disbelieved by your listener, then you understand how humiliating and dehumanizing that feels. There is deep significance in being believed, in having your words acknowledged and valued without needing to prove yourself beyond a reasonable doubt. Belief is not neutral.