As a child I claimed to have nearly drowned from seaweed. Where as in actual fact, i nearly drowned from my imagination. Seaweed had wrapped its hairy tentacle arms around my legs, and was dragging me into the deep layer where fish gorge themselves on small pink toes. My kicking and trying to stay above their reach had become hopeless so suddenly.
Having an overactive imagination is a blessing and a curse. The average dark patch of woods- breaths dark things with eyes of intelligence waiting… waiting to ponce.
And yet, a simple sentence from a child’s chattering mouth can set alight a series of images worthy of satisfying delight. Adventure and distracted pleasure is where ever I imagine it to be.
My imagination can turn nearly anything mundane thing I do in the day, into something terribly extravagant and quite worth writing about.
Yes, I truly write most my stories about really nothing overly extraordinary at all. Yet they come to life in my mind and grow, and stretch, and spread wide arms AND well… I’ve been told can be somewhat amusing.
Entertaining to the children, if no one else.
The other day we went for a walk in the woods. I could leave it at that. After all that really is what we did.
This tree is where the Forest Nome’s come to collect their daily beards before heading off to work. Now you see all that Old Man’s Beard strung out and hanging ready for a new day, don’t you?
The aspen trees along our path were bent like long Giant fingers, crossed in thought. The boys were helpful standing on the odd finger that lay too low, so we could get the stroller over. Then the children climbed up Pebble Mountain, an exposed bank along the trail. On top of Pebble Mountain is Bramble Look-out and Dead Dog Log (Jonas’ clever name for what he thought was dog bones). They climbed over and over again, sending pebbles bouncing off into the abyss.
The younger ones and I pushed through Deep Ravine heading home again, while Jonas bush-wacked in the sun above us, keeping us in sight. We sent out calls when the underbrush grew dense-till we finally met up again where we tromped though every puddle we could find- till we found ourselves home again.
This is my imagination enriching my life. But then sometimes…
I’ll be driving home at night and slow down for strange hooded creatures about to cross the road, or large wolves… that aren’t really there.
Winter nights locking up the chickens can have my heart pounding with one crack from the woods. I can think of a million ways we could die 4×4-ing, and can envision the sickness that I “could” contract if I touch… that… (at which point my child would probably eat it).
I’m on a journey of discovering how to stay imaginative, but not fearful.
To hold every thought captive,
but not be the captive of my thoughts.
To be creative- but free.
Sometimes I have to stop my mind. Tell it to go no further. I’m only just learning how. I replace the fearful thought with Truths.
It’s a journey I know that I can’t navigate on my own. But thankfully The Maker of all wisdom, Creator of the great imagination, and The Great Conquer (of even death), has offered me His help. I love that God loves me enough to challenge and grow me into more than I ever thought possible while constantly reminding me of His faithfulness.
And the thing with a journey is
it always makes
for a great