Echoes of Light

Growing up within a particular religious framework taught me many things—not just about doctrine, but about the nature of learning itself. From an early age, I knew the expectations. I diligently followed the rules, thinking that obedience alone was the pathway to salvation. This included going door-to-door, engaging total strangers, even as silent panic swirled inside me. They said it would get better with time, but for me, even decades later, it didn’t.

One of the tenets of this faith was the importance of parents studying the Bible with their children. While some received this guidance early, my mother took a different path. After my parents divorced and my mother became a single parent, time for formal study was scarce. She arranged for me to study with a kind older woman in the congregation. I was given the choice of which book to use as the foundation of our study—and that decision became pivotal.

While they may have expected me to select a book designed for youth—filled with lessons on avoiding dating, limiting hobbies, and staying away from sports—I had already absorbed those principles. Instead, I reached for something deeper: a book unraveling the prophecies of Daniel and Revelation.

The reaction from them was a mix of surprise and trepidation. These were not easy texts, and even as a preteen, I knew that. But I craved understanding, explanation, and the wisdom of someone older to guide me through their mysteries. The sweet older woman tried valiantly, but after only two studies, the effort was redirected. I was handed the expected youth book, and the lessons shifted back to rote learning. It wasn’t long before the studies fizzled out entirely.

Looking back, I realize why that structure felt so unfulfilling. The rigid format—questions at the bottom, answers in the paragraph above—sought to mold thinking, not spark curiosity. Even when encouraged to answer “in my own words,” the exercise lacked depth. For someone who loves words, it was an easy, mechanical task—but the insights never reached my heart.

This experience left a lasting impression. It taught me that learning is about more than just recitation or following a formula. True understanding demands depth, exploration, and the freedom to ask questions that challenge the conventional. Without that freedom, learning risks becoming an obligation rather than a joy.

Perhaps this is why I’m so drawn to storytelling now—to reflect, to question, and to dig beneath the surface. Each story, each idea, holds its own layers of meaning, waiting for those willing to truly see them. And through that, I find a sense of clarity I once longed for as a child.

Your thoughts?