_FRANCES E. FOOTE_
The Story telling Movement is growing with such gigantic strides that
a magazine which will keep the Missionaries in this movement in touch
with one another seems most desirable, if not absolutely necessary.
Many writers have voiced many opinions as to the benefits to be derived
from the exercise of the Art of Story telling, but there is one which
I have never seen in black and white, about which I feel impelled to
write. It is the _Psycho-Therapeutic value of Story telling_.
Pain is a real thing, and will hold us in his clutches and claim all
our attention if allowed to do so.
Sorrow is absorbing, and will bow our heads and break our spirits if
unhindered.
Upon what, then, may we concentrate our attention, that pain may grow
weary of pressing his claim?
With what may we so absorb our minds that sorrow will fade away?
One of the fundamental principles of Story telling is that the oral
interpreter of Literature, must so vividly _see_ the pictures described
in the story, that he will cause his hearers to feel that they, too,
see.
He must _feel_ the impulses and emotions of the characters in the story
so truly that the hearts of his hearers will thrill with the same
feeling.
Since this is true, that the mind must be absorbed in the distant
scenes of Story Land, pain in due course of time must grow tired of
urging his claim and will ultimately depart.
The emotions dominant in stories which we tell are altruistic for the
most part. We prefer to dwell upon themes in which evil is overcome by
good; those in which sorrow flees away and joy comes with the morning.
Isn’t it true that the person who, day after day, creates these
altruistic emotions in the hearts of his hearers will find his sorrow,
deep-seated though it may be, growing dimmer day by day as he brightens
the lives of his hearers?
There are many cases which I could give you to prove my point. One, of
a little child with spinal trouble, who was treated by a great surgeon.
He would call upon her two or three days out of the week and each time
tell her a story. He required her, meanwhile, to make up similar
stories. For instance, he would tell her the story of “Little Green
Cap.” Then he would say, “Now, by Tuesday I want you to have a story
ready for me. It must be about a poor little girl, a princess and a
magic ring.” So absorbed did the child become in such work that the
pain in the poor little back grew less and less insistent until she
ceased to be an invalid and was able to attend school. She was one of
the happiest children I ever knew. She said she didn’t mind the pain
any more, she had such lovely things to think about.
Another was the case of a young woman upon whom sorrow laid a heavy
hand. Prostrated by grief, she lay for several days in a darkened room.
Then rousing herself she went to a hospital and secured permission from
the superintendent to visit daily the friendless patients who seemed
lonely. For months she reported daily to the superintendent, was given
directions as to which patients to visit, and for three hours she
would go from one to the other telling humorous stories. The morning
hours she spent hunting for artistic, mirth-provoking stories and her
afternoons in bringing smiles to sad faces. The result was inevitable.
People everywhere welcomed her as a ray of sunshine.
One more case—that of a young woman who, while making a brave struggle
to recover from one serious operation, suddenly found herself facing
another even more serious. With nerves racked by persistent pain,
courage well nigh gone, pursued by that dread foe insomnia, she turned
to her one accomplishment, Story telling. Though able to sit up but a
few hours at a time, she held large audiences in many cities two or
three times a week, until she once more went under the knife. Then
within two months she was on the platform again, bringing herself back
to health by compelling her mind to dwell in Storyland. I knew all the
particulars of this case, the physical torture she endured for two
years, the struggle she made to live, and knowing what I do, forces me
to believe that if Story telling did not save her life, it certainly
saved her reason.
It is a law of life that the only thing which we may always _keep_, is
the thing we _give_. If then, the prime function of Story telling is
the giving of _Joy_, then _Joy_ is the thing which the Story teller may
have.
To those who “travail and are heavy laden” I commend the Art of Story
telling.