The Unfettered Imagination

“All children are artists, and it is an indictment of our culture that so many of them lose their creativity, their unfettered imaginations, as they grow older. But they start off without self consciousness as they paint their purple flowers, their anatomically impossible people, their thunderous, sulphurous skies.

“So what happens? Why do we lose our wonderful, rackety creativity? What corrupts us?. . . A lot of my adult life has been spent in trying to overcome this corruption, in unlearning the dirty devices of this world, which would dull our imaginations, cut away our creativity.

“In art we are once again able to do all the things we have forgotten; we are able to walk on the water; we speak to the angels who call us; we move, unfettered, among the stars.”Madeleine L’Engle 

The beautiful, redeeming truth of that last sentence is worth a good mulling. It makes me tingle with possibility, and overflow with thanks for being a creative soul and a writer. A fiction writer, in particular. I can construct castles, battle ogres, and ride on the back of a dragon with a flick of my fingers across the keyboard . . . and it’s okay! Better yet, I can do all of those fantastical things and implore others to come along beside me and forget their troubles for a time.

It’s taken me a while to embrace this call and admit to others that “I’m a writer.” Sometimes I feel a bit foolish when asked what I do, especially since the inevitable follow-up question is “what do you write?”

“Fantasy,” I hear myself answer. And immediately I assume they feel a bit cynical toward me, like I’ve never quite grown up. That’s probably a false impression but I’m aware that there’s a general dubious curiosity about my occupation. Especially when I admit that, to this point, I’m unpublished.

But, like most artists, I’ve always been a dreamer. Society has tried to strip that tendency away but it’s part and parcel to my personality. I have wondered what cows are up to when no one is around (think: The Far Side) and what century might be hiding behind an intriguing door (time travel anyone?). Don’t most people have such thoughts?

The voices of reason, maturity, and responsibility like to chime in with society and say, “ain’t nobody got time for that!” Well there was a time when I didn’t have time for such pursuits (except in my mind) but I am in a different season of life now. The last few years, as I watched my children enter adulthood one by one, I’ve had to assess my strengths and pray about what God would have me do.

It is a great comfort to read Ephesians 2:10, “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Because I have made it a matter of prayer and sought my husband’s insight, I have peace about the pursuit of a career in writing. I get to experience stories that God, the Master Storyteller, had in mind for me to write before the foundations of the earth. Wow! That’s a thrilling thought—and that scripture applies to anyone, in any line of work that God preordained, so that should thrill you as well!

Growing up has its advantages but those perks come with an awful lot of pitfalls. Life can beat us up, grind us down, and suck the life out of all of our childhood ambitions and dreams. But the power of a beautiful story can offer hope, can heal, and may even revive dead desires. The billions of dollars spent at the box office is a testament to our innate longing for something to lift us out of the mundane and into the phenomenal. Whether we write the stories or read them, the words, thoughts, and ideas are vital to all of us on some level.

I think there’s a story that wants to be told in each of us. Being a writer is really not as unique as it sounds. Our lives are one long story made up of many others of varying lengths. We’ve all experienced sharing our good news or the pain of a loss with friends and love ones. Everyone has quirky ideas or complex insights that are worthy of being put on paper. 

Maybe what the world needs is more writers, more poets, more artists, more people willing to explore their childhood imaginations. What’s stopping you? How have you lost your “wonderful, rackety creativity?” What has corrupted your passions or dulled your ingenuity? I know the raising of four Littles kept my hands doing other things besides writing, but it sure is exhilarating to embrace this purpose now.

Whatever it is (and there are many good, justifiable reasons), let me encourage you to find some margin in your life to doodle and dream. For now, it may look like jotting notes in journals or even on the white space of discarded homework. Preserve those thoughts in some way and don’t stop contemplating the possibilities.

In the meantime, mull over the wisdom here: “In art we are once again able to do all the things we have forgotten; we are able to walk on the water; we speak to the angels who call us; we move, unfettered, among the stars.” ML’E.