The Last Place I Expected to Grow as a Christian Writer, Was a D&D Table

I didn’t expect to grow as a Christian writer at a Dungeons & Dragons table. In fact, if you had asked me in my early twenties what I thought about D&D, I probably would’ve pictured a chaotic mix of dice, loud storytelling, and the kind of fantasy I never saw myself stepping into. I certainly didn’t see it as something that could influence my writing or shape my creativity. My first brush with the game—around age twenty, back when I was working as a chef in Nashville—did little to change that opinion. The GM wasn’t prepared, the story fell apart before it ever got moving, and the whole thing felt more uncomfortable than imaginative. I walked away thinking, Well, that was enough of that.

And because I grew up hearing the usual warnings and cautionary comments in church circles, I didn’t question that response. Fantasy was fine at a safe distance—movies, books, occasional games—but D&D carried a certain reputation, like it was something Christians should keep at arm’s length. I wasn’t angry about it. I wasn’t judgmental. I just filed the experience away and assumed that chapter of my life was closed before it ever really started.

But life isn’t always that neat.

By the time I was twenty-two, a little older, a little more grounded, and a lot more aware of who I was becoming, I found myself at a different table with different people—people who actually understood collaborative storytelling. I wasn’t seeking out D&D. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I was just curious enough, humble enough, and maybe open enough to give it one more try. And what I found there surprised me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

Not rebellion. Not doubt. Not anything that made me step back from my faith.

What I found was growth—quiet, steady, creative growth that reshaped the way I see stories, people, and the craft I've dedicated my life to.

The last place I expected to grow as a Christian writer was a D&D table. But that unexpected place is exactly where it began.

The Part Nobody Talks About: D&D Isn’t About Magic — It’s About People

When people hear “Dungeons & Dragons,” they usually picture spell books, demons, wizards, and all the dramatic fantasy that comes with the game’s reputation. And sure, those elements exist, but when I actually sat at the table and played, none of that was what stood out to me. What surprised me most wasn’t the magic at all—it was the humanity woven through every session.

D&D, at its core, is a game built on:

• empathy — understanding who your character is and why they make the choices they do

• consequences — realizing that actions shape the world and the people in it

• choices — facing decisions that reveal values, priorities, and motives

• courage — stepping into danger for the sake of others

• sacrifice — giving something up to protect the party or pursue what’s right

• humor — laughing together through the unexpected

• growth — watching characters (and players) evolve over time

Every character has a backstory that shapes the way they interact with the world. Every choice creates ripples that influence what happens next. And every adventure, whether it involves a dragon or something as simple as helping a farmer, asks the same question real life asks:

“Who do you want to be?”

As a Christian and a storyteller, that question hit me deeply. It reminded me that beneath all the fantasy and dice rolls, the game is ultimately about the heart, about becoming someone who makes meaningful choices in a world full of unknowns.

D&D Taught Me Empathy - The First Tool of a Writer

To play or run a good game of Dungeons & Dragons, you have to understand people on a deeper level than you might expect. You can’t just decide what your character does; you have to understand why they do it. D&D asks you to think about the parts of a person’s heart and history that shape their choices, which means paying attention to things like:

• What motivates them — the desires, dreams, and driving forces beneath the surface

• What wounds them — the hurts, failures, or losses that quietly influence everything

• What they fear — the dangers, insecurities, or shadows that hold them back

• What they believe in — the convictions and values they cling to when things get hard

• What they hope for — the future they long for, even when the world around them looks bleak

The more you play, the more you realize that you’re not just rolling dice—you’re practicing empathy. You’re learning how to step inside someone else’s skin, not to glorify them or excuse them, but to understand them. You start to see how complicated people are. How layered their stories can be. How much of their behavior is shaped by invisible battles?

And that struck me, because Jesus taught in that same spirit. He didn’t simply preach at people; He understood them. He recognized their wounds, their fears, their motivations. Not only that, but he used stories and parables to reach their hearts. Likewise, he met them in the middle of their real, messy lives and offered truth through compassion.

D&D didn’t pull me away from that kind of insight. It didn’t distract me from understanding people the way Jesus modeled. If anything, it sharpened it. It made me pay closer attention to the emotional threads that make a character believable—and, in turn, made me more aware of the emotional threads that make real people who they are.

And that kind of awareness changed the way I write. It changed the way I listen. It changed the way I tell stories.

D&D Reinforced Moral Storytelling, Not the Opposite

One of the biggest misconceptions Christians have about Dungeons and Dragons is the idea that it is morally chaotic, as if the game encourages players to throw out their values and embrace anything that feels wild or impulsive. That was one of the concerns I heard growing up, and for a long time, I did not question it. But when you sit at an actual table and play with real people, you realize very quickly that the game does not function like that at all.

In real play, morality is not ignored. If anything, it is magnified. You start to see that:

• Choices matter. They shape the path ahead and define the tone of the story.

• Consequences matter. Good or bad, they follow you, just like in real life.

• Good and evil matter. They are woven into the world, the conflicts, and the arcs of the characters.

Heroes who lie, cheat, or act selfishly do not get rewarded for it. They face natural fallout. Maybe the party stops trusting them. Maybe an NPC they wronged shows up again later with every reason in the world not to help. Maybe their actions cause damage they never intended. The game world reacts to these choices in believable, human ways.

On the other hand, heroes who sacrifice, who choose unity when things fall apart, who act with courage even when the odds look terrible, genuinely change the world around them. Entire towns are rescued because someone chose to stand firm. Lives are restored because someone chose compassion instead of revenge. Party members grow closer because they learned to trust each other in hard moments. Even fictional worlds respond to acts of integrity.

That is not anti-Christian. That is storytelling, the same kind of storytelling Scripture is full of. When you read the Bible, you see people making choices that define their character, facing consequences that shape their future, and discovering redemption because someone showed mercy or stood up for what was right. The moral fabric of the story is never optional. It is central.

The more I played Dungeons and Dragons, the more I realized this was not a game about escaping morality or pretending choices do not carry weight. It was a game that quietly expects you to pay attention to your decisions, to think about how your actions affect others, and to recognize that the story you build is shaped by the heart you bring to the table.

In other words, it requires moral awareness. And for me, that awareness did not pull me away from my faith. It sharpened it.

D&D Taught Me How to Build Worlds With Purpose

Before I ever wrote a book, Dungeons and Dragons quietly taught me the foundations of worldbuilding. I did not even realize it at the time. I was just trying to tell a story that made sense, one scene at a time. But the more I played, the more I learned how many moving parts it takes to create a world that feels alive. Long before I ever outlined a novel or drafted a chapter, D&D was already teaching me how to shape:

• believable cultures that feel grounded and distinct

• consistent history that influences the present in meaningful ways

• conflict with direction that gives the story weight and momentum

• mysteries that unfold at the right pace so readers stay engaged

• stories that make people care enough to keep turning the page

None of those skills tempted me toward anything dark or dangerous. They did the opposite. They made me a better writer, especially when it came to themes of faith, redemption, and human struggle. When you look closely, the Bible itself is full of deeply layered worldbuilding:

• kingdoms rising and falling

• cultures shaping beliefs and traditions

• spiritual battles happening in both seen and unseen realms

• characters with deep motivations that influence their decisions

• consequences for choices that ripple across generations

The more I studied Scripture, the more I recognized how rich and intentional its storytelling truly is. And the more I practiced storytelling through D&D, the more I appreciated those layers.

Dungeons and Dragons did not create my love for worldbuilding, but it gave me a sandbox where I could practice the craft. It offered a place to explore how stories fit together, how characters grow, and how a world responds when someone’s choices shift its balance. In time, that practice made its way into my writing, shaping the way I build settings, design conflict, and guide readers into stories with purpose and heart.

D&D Strengthened Something That Matters Deeply in Faith: Community

Dungeons and Dragons is collaborative. You cannot play it alone. You cannot force it into one person’s vision. You tell the story together, adding pieces one moment at a time, each player bringing their own perspective, ideas, and creativity. And as a believer, that reminded me of something deeply comforting and familiar.

Faith was never meant to be lived alone. And neither was creativity.

Both thrive in community, in conversation, and in shared experience. The longer I played, the more I realized that a D&D table functions in many of the same ways a healthy church or a meaningful small group does. Tables, just like churches, thrive when people learn how to:

• Listen to one another with patience

• Encourage each other when things get difficult

• Challenge each other to grow and stretch

• Support one another through setbacks

• Laugh together in moments of relief and joy

• Build something bigger than themselves by combining their gifts

Those simple rhythms of community mirror something God designed us for. They create an environment where stories come alive, not because one person demands it, but because everyone contributes to it.

For me, Dungeons and Dragons was never about escaping real life or running from responsibility. It was about connecting with people, learning to collaborate, and discovering the strength that comes from shared creativity.

And connection, when you strip away all the layers, is holy work.

**So… Is D&D “Safe” for Christians?

Whether Dungeons and Dragons is “safe” or “appropriate” for a Christian is not a question that can be answered by the game itself. It depends on the heart, not the game. I am not here to argue with anyone, and I am certainly not here to convert the church to D&D or convince anyone to sit down and play. Different people carry different convictions, different histories, and different comfort levels. That deserves respect.

Some Christians will never feel comfortable with fantasy, and that is okay. Some will approach it carefully, with questions and boundaries, and that is wise. Some will discover that imagination enriches their creativity instead of threatening their faith.

My experience was simple and honest.

I approached Dungeons and Dragons with caution. I expected red flags. I expected confusion. I expected to walk away again, just like I did in my early twenties.

Instead, I found growth.

I found creative growth as I learned to tell stories with more depth and purpose. I found relational growth as I connected with others around shared imagination. And yes, I found spiritual growth, not because the game is holy or sacred, but because God has a way of using unexpected tools to shape us.

For me, Dungeons and Dragons was not a doorway into anything dark. It was a doorway into a deeper understanding of story, community, and empathy. Not because the game itself carries spiritual power, but because God can use imagination in unexpected ways when our heart is pointed in the right direction.

The Truth: You Don’t Have to Hide Imagination To Be Faithful

If there is one thing I want other Christian storytellers to hear, it is this: you do not have to be ashamed of imagination. You do not have to hide the fact that creativity comes naturally to you, or pretend that the ideas God placed in your heart are somehow less valuable because they do not fit inside a narrow box. And you certainly do not have to fear the tools that help you grow into the writer God made you to be.

I am a Christian author. I write devotionals. I write Christian fiction. And yes, I also write Dungeons and Dragons content and use the game to sharpen my craft.

Not because I am trying to push boundaries. Not because I am trying to stir controversy. But because God created imagination, I want to steward that gift with intention and honesty. Creativity is not something to hide. It is something to cultivate, refine, and use for good.

If a tool helps me tell stories that carry hope, courage, redemption, compassion, and truth, then I want to use it. I want to learn from it. I want to let it shape my craft in ways that honor the One who gave me the desire to write in the first place.

Even if the tool happens to have dragons on the cover.