My Stories

My name is Lori. I am five years old. I am in the first grade. I do my best work.

That was one of the first stories I ever wrote.  By winter of that same school year, I had become an artist – a poet – penning words like these:

Winter Is
Winter is pretty. The trees and house are snowy.
Winter is cold. I dress warm.
Winter is fun.
Winter is making snowmen. Winter is making snow houses.
Winter is what you want it to be.
Winter is still here.


If you have kiddies, I encourage you to give them pencils and let them “fill their papers with the breathing of their hearts.”[1]  What your child writes will be a window into a developing worldview (the second-to-last line of my poem being an alarming case in point) and an opportunity to help your child guard his/her heart from error. Why?  Because everything flows from the heart.[2]

My collection of stories from the first grade include a tale of Mr. Fig, a commentary on happiness, a pithy piece on what it might be like to own an elephant, a pondering of forgotten things, & more.

[1] Adapted from a quote by William Wordsworth.

[2] Proverbs 4:23 – Watch over your heart with all diligence, for from it flow the springs of life.

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