Skip to main content

Story Warren: Allies in Imagination

Some friends of our family loaned us a book called The Green Ember, by S.D. Smith in recent months, which led me to Story Warren. I've been encouraged by the blog posts that I've found there, but the overall purpose of the site is what keeps me going back. To quote the About page:

"Who are we?
Your Allies in Imagination.
What’s our purpose? 
Story Warren exists to serve you as you foster holy imagination in the children you love.
Why?
We hope God will use us to Kindle Imagination for Kingdom Anticipation."
Our boys are growing so quickly, and as we try to honor Jesus with our parenting, "Kingdom Anticipation" becomes more and more important. Looking for the work of the Holy Spirit, especially the work that is prepared for us, takes a holy imagination -- a heart and mind that is ready for God in all his startling ways.

I'm glad to report here that Story Warren has published a post of mine about reading Anne of Green Gables as a boy. My childhood was full of stories and imaginings, and those experiences are a parenting help these days.

Below you'll find a taste of "Anne of Green Gables: Boys Allowed:"

It is fitting that we begin on the roof. Long ago, when my parents first taught me to enjoy stories, I desired adventure and often found it on the top of our house. Yes, the somewhat dizzying height and challenge of walking upright on slanted asphalt shingles was an adventure. Yes, it felt daring to pick kumquats from the topmost branches that reached over the garage, leaning just far enough so my toes didn't slip from the edge. However, there were other adventures, too.

My mother was brave enough to climb with me on certain days, probably when I didn't really want to read, so that we could recline on the roof side by side. Then she read aloud while I stared at the sky or rolled twigs down into the backyard.

One of the stories that is burned on my memory is of a little girl named Anne, who walked along the very top of a roof to the horror of her friends -- so the rooftop remains to me a sign of sorts. You see, my mother knew I desired adventure, and that I would find a kindred spirit in the pages of Anne of Green Gables.

Go on to read the whole piece on Story Warren by clicking here.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Silliness Solidifies Relationships

On February 8th, I posted an introduction of sorts called "Toward a Manifesto of Silliness." Every week since then I've written about silliness, mostly as a way to meditate on and answer the question: What makes silliness important? My family and I talked it over, and here are our answers: "Silliness is a Sign of Joy." "Silliness is Important Because We are Silly." "Silliness is Just Fun." "Silliness Helps Bring Balance." Thinking on and writing about those answers helped this last silly answer grow -- I had an idea at first, but those initial answers shaped how I thought/think about silliness. It was a suspicion that began the day my youngest son and I played our game of nothing. Remember? All this began with nothing. Try to imagine: First, we sat side by side, the whole room bright from the sun. Soon, he draped his arms around my neck, and because of the faces we'd been making, laughter took over. His brothers were close by, ...

Silliness Helps Bring Balance

If you've been with us for the last few weeks, you're beginning to see what we feel about silliness. If you haven't been checking in on us, however, here's what you've missed: * We asked some initial questions about why silliness is important . * Firstly, we said, silliness is a sign of joy . * Secondly, we are obviously silly and obviously important. You are, too, if you were wondering . * Thirdly, silliness is just fun . Don't worry, we'll wait while you catch up on all that reading. ... Good, I'm glad you're back! We're just giving another answer: Fourthly, silliness is important because it helps bring balance. I hope you know we're being earnest, if not completely serious. That last sentence made me smile, and I needed it at the moment. You see, even though all this writing and posting amounts to little, there's a feeling that begins at the back of my mind when I think I'm doing something good, especially when I'm glad about m...

To the Mountains: Fall on Us

Blankenship didn't hear the priest's opening words. He heard people sit down behind him, and he noted that the sound of water hitting the makeshift tent mingled with their whispers and their folding, shivering umbrellas. A little girl carried a yellow one, and he saw the light of it amidst the intermingled shadows of gray clouds and those cast by ancient oaks as she walked toward the grave. The age-worn branches labored in the wind; endlessly they creaked and rubbed into life a music, a siren's song, the lyrics a sighing lament that told of what lay beneath the turf. Blankenship wondered what the roots knew and how much they would tell if he listened, if anyone listened. He realized he missed the reading when the prayer began. The priest spoke words into the air, but Blankenship pictured in his mind's eye his boy's room the night he learned of the sickness. A window had been left open and the wind swept in, and wave upon wave of dust was tossed over the floor. H...