How To End A Story
“What makes the temptation of power seemingly irresistible? Maybe it is that power offers an easy substitute for the hard task of love. It seems easier to be God than to love God, easier to control people than to love people, easier to own life than to love life.” - Henri Nouwen
The hard task of love builds toward a better ending.
When we sit down to write a story, compose a song, paint a landscape, set new goals, or write a will, we bear the weight of endings – the mysteries of life, death, joy, and sorrow. We give patient language to the longings of our humanity. We pay attention to the world around us, to those who slow their pace just to be seen for a moment.
To those who want to be loved.
To those who have never heard the words “I am proud of you.”
To those whose parched hearts need the spring of a lover’s touch.
To those who think they have to carry it all.
To those who just want it all to end.
Endings are overwhelming. We wonder if we are even capable of a good story. One that brings things to light. That stirs the imagination toward redemptive ends. That groans for the kind of beauty for which we all long.
I recently heard Kate DiCamillo talk about the ending of her novel Louisiana’s Way Home and how she was stumped by how to finish it. She then heard David Isay share the four things people need to say before they die:
1. Thank you.
2. I love you.
3. I forgive you.
4. Can you forgive me?
Those four pieces captured DiCamillos’s imagination, and she knew exactly how the story would end.
This is the hard task of love.
This is how we write the ending. These are things we can control. These postures are disarming, but eventually the weapons of selfishness, power, control, and resentment will prove too heavy. These are the easier substitutes that slowly wear down a heart that beats for better endings.
So, let’s write the ending. I’ll start:
Thank you.
I love you.
I forgive you.
Can you forgive me?
