Who is the fictional character you relate to the most?
Of all the fictional characters I have encountered, John Ames in Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead may be the one I relate to most.
Ames is an ageing minister writing to his young son. He is gentle without being sentimental, devout without being coercive, and deeply attentive to the holiness of ordinary life. I recognise that in myself.
Like Ames, I have spent much of my life working with faith, words and people. I am less interested in neat religious answers than in how faith holds together through grief, uncertainty and the richness of ordinary days.
Ames notices sunlight, baptisms, friendship and familiar streets. My own writing often begins in much the same way: walking with the dog, a familiar song, a meal, a journey or a conversation. Small things become doorways into larger questions about grace, meaning and what makes a life worthwhile. For both of us, attention is a spiritual practice.
I also recognise his tendency to retreat into reflection. Ames is gracious, but sometimes slow to face what troubles him. I can be like that too. Thoughtfulness can be wisdom, but it can also become a way of avoiding difficult truths. Yet this is where we differ.
Ames is primarily a witness to grace. He notices, remembers, blesses and interprets. My life has also required me to build, lead and repair. When systems fail people, I want to change them. When someone is overlooked, I want to advocate for them.
Ames asks, “How can I bless what has been entrusted to me?” I also ask, “What needs to change so it can be better cared for?”
Our sense of legacy is different too. Ames writes for his son. I don’t have children, so I think of legacy more through people formed, communities strengthened and opportunities created. Ames wants to leave a blessing. So do I. But perhaps mine is less a letter to the future than an attempt to place something life-giving within it: an opportunity, a set of values and a question worth pursuing.
John Ames sees grace in what is already there. I hope I do too. But I am also inclined to ask how grace might take practical form, how it might shape a community, repair what is broken and help someone else flourish.
The Afterword 
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