This young-reader age group is innocent enough to listen with enthusiasm and old enough to understand the significance of God’s plan for them. I’ve seen it again and again in school visits, book clubs, and living rooms: nine-, ten-, eleven-year-olds who still lean forward when you read aloud, who still ask honest questions, who still want to know what courage looks like and how forgiveness actually heals. They’re also standing on the edge of something new. In just a few short years the choices get louder, the crowds get stronger, and the consequences last longer. That’s why I’m starting this new series—how to lay a strong faith foundation before the teen years—and why I’m framing it as A Journey to the Light.
I’m convinced that what we build between ages 9–13 can redirect a life. Kids in this window are impressionable but not naïve. They understand that actions have weight. They sense the pull of belonging and the thrill of independence. And they’re eager—eager to explore, eager to be trusted, eager to know who they are in God’s story. If we wait until high school to teach them how to walk wisely, we’re late. If we begin now—steady rhythms, clear truth, meaningful conversations—we give them something more than rules. We give them roots.
Below I’ll sketch the case, the Scripture, and the practical “how.” I’ll also show how Christian fantasy, done the right way, belongs in the toolbox for Christian parenting—not as a replacement for Scripture, never that, but as a powerful assistant that opens dialogue and trains moral imagination. And, yes, I’ll connect this to my Bible Study Guide and the story-world many of you are already exploring with your families. Think of this post as a field map you can fold into your pocket for the week ahead.
Why the 9–13 Window Matters
There’s a reason Deuteronomy tells us to speak of God’s words “when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise.” That passage is not a poster—it’s a plan. Formation happens rhythmically, in small, repeated acts of attention. The preteen years are the last stretch where parents can set those rhythms without constant resistance, and the first stretch where kids can carry them alone if we teach them how.
Think about what is forming in these years:
- Habits: little routines that will either carry them through storms or leave them exposed.
- Crowds: friend groups that will act like wind—either pushing toward light or toward fog.
- Mindsets: stories they quietly tell themselves about their worth, their future, their God.
Give a child a phone without forming their loves and you hand them a compass that spins. Set a foundation now and you give them true north when notifications, opinions, and anxieties start shouting.
Scripture, Imagination, and Why Stories Belong
I write stories because the Bible taught me to. The God who made the world filled Bezalel with the Spirit “for craftsmanship” (Ex. 31:1–5). The prophets spoke in images so vivid they bend you toward truth—chariots of fire, rivers that heal, a city of light. Jesus taught with parables, not because facts are weak, but because stories slip past defenses and plant seeds. I want kids to memorize Scripture, sing psalms and hymns, and learn sound doctrine straight from the Bible in the context of a healthy local church. And I also want them to see truth moving—in characters who keep promises, in villains whose lies sound almost true, in mercy that costs something and therefore changes everything.
So I make this simple claim: a Christian home should disciple the imagination as deliberately as it disciples the mind. We don’t worship stories; we recruit them. We don’t fear wonder; we aim it. When imagination is discipled, it becomes a lantern children can carry into the complicated halls of adolescence.
A Journey to the Light (and the Crossroads Ahead)
Picture the crossroads illustration (referenced above): a young traveler in the center, five roads branching outward—Identity, Belonging, Power, Truth, Hope. These are not theoretical categories; they’re the real questions that start pounding on the door around middle school. Here’s how I’ve watched them unfold, and how we can prepare for each one before the traffic gets heavy.
Identity: “Who am I, really?”
One path says you are what you achieve, what you look like, what others think. The other says you are made and loved; you are called and capable in Christ. Preteens are already hearing both stories. In Christian fantasy, I love to build naming moments—the scene where a character stops letting the crowd define them and receives a truer name. In family conversation, this can be as simple as asking after a chapter, “Who tried to name our hero today—and did they accept that name?” Identity rooted in God steadies the feet.
Belonging: “Where do I fit?”
Belonging by blending is fragile. Belonging by covenant—I love you enough to tell you the truth—is strong. Look for scenes where friends bring correction without abandonment. Ask, “Who told a hard truth and stayed?” Adolescence will test whether friendship is entertainment or promise. Teach covenant now.
Power: “What do I do with what I can do?”
Power is miraculous and dangerous. Untethered, it becomes control. Under love, it becomes service. In my stories, I never want “leveling up” to mean license. I want it to mean kneeling. Around your table, ask, “Who used strength to serve? Who used it to bend others?” That single question trains instincts your child will need when social power shows up in real life.
Truth: “What lie sounded almost true?”
Every good chapter contains a seductive lie. That’s not an accident; it’s training. Jesus said truth sets us free—but we don’t become truth-tellers by memorizing bumper stickers. We become truth-tellers by testing counterfeits. After a scene, try this ritual: “Name the lie. Name the truth.” Keep it short, almost playful. Over time, kids learn to do it spontaneously.
Hope: “Where does my confidence rest?”
Optimism is a mood. Hope has a Source. If a story resolves with a clever loophole or an authorial reset, kids learn that winning is mostly luck. If a story resolves because someone tells the truth when it hurts, forgives when it costs, serves when it’s risky—hope becomes strong enough to live on. Ask, “What finally turned the tide, and why?” Then connect that pattern to the gospel.
Those five questions are the map. They turn reading into practice for life. They also make the “Journey to the Light” more than a slogan. They make it a way of walking.
Parents as Lantern-Bearers (Not Just Gatekeepers)
I’m grateful for parents who care enough to say no. Boundaries keep wolves outside the camp. But the preteen years need more than access control; they need companionship. A gatekeeper stands at the door; a lantern-bearer walks the path. A gatekeeper says, “That book is bad.” A lantern-bearer says, “Let’s test what this book is training you to love.” One builds dependence on your verdicts; the other builds discernment your child can carry into locker rooms, group chats, and late-night worries.
How do you carry the lantern? You read with them (or near them). You ask one question after a chapter. You pray one sentence. That’s it. It’s not a seminar; it’s a rhythm. In twenty minutes a night, two or three nights a week, you can stack a foundation that no cultural gust can knock flat.
Four Rhythms that Strengthen the Base: Word, Table, Story, Service
I keep returning to these four because families tell me they’re doable. They don’t require a new personality or a new budget—just a little resolve.
Word. Keep Scripture close and simple. A verse before school. A psalm at bedtime. A proverb at lunch. I like to anchor our reading week with a theme—light vs. darkness (John 1:1–5), courage when afraid (Joshua 1:9), truth vs. lies (John 8:31–32), repentance and forgiveness (Luke 15). One passage. One week. Deep grooves.
Table. Eat together more nights than not. Linger five minutes. Ask one non-quiz question: “Where did you see someone keep a promise today?” The table is where identities settle, where belonging is renewed.
Story. Read aloud or “buddy read.” Let a preteen take a page, then you take a page. Pick books that make courage, mercy, and truth visible. Don’t lecture while you read. Let the chapter end. Then ask your one question.
Service. Put hands on what the heart is learning. Take a Saturday to help a neighbor. Write a note to someone who’s lonely. Let kids feel the good weight of using strength to serve. Now they aren’t just hearing about light; they’re walking in it.
These rhythms won’t make your home glossy. They will make it sturdy.
Why Christian Fantasy Belongs in the Toolbox
I write Christian fantasy for preteens because I want families to have stories that welcome curiosity, honor conscience, and invite conversation. When we read fiction built on a Christian moral universe, kids get to practice the very things we want them to live:
- Clarity: Good and evil aren’t fashion statements.
- Consequence: Choices carry weight; repentance repairs.
- Courage: Strength exists to serve.
- Mercy: Forgiveness isn’t cheap; it’s chosen.
- Hope: The light wins without pretending the dark was harmless.
If you’re using my Bible Study Guide alongside the story, fold these same themes into your weekly rhythm. Let the guide frame the conversation. Let the story supply the pictures. The combination is powerful because the heart doesn’t change by information alone. It changes when truth becomes beautiful and desirable.
The “Magic” Question (Answered for Parents and Kids)
Every time I write about fantasy, someone asks about “magic.” The Bible is clear: Christians reject occult practice. We do not imitate forbidden spiritual acts. Period. But in literature, wonders are often the physics of an imagined world: a door that opens between mountains, a river that remembers names, a lantern that burns brighter when someone tells the truth. None of that invites a child to repeat a rite; it invites them to notice what wins.
Here’s the three-sentence explanation I share with families:
- God alone is Lord over the unseen; we don’t imitate occult practices.
- In make-believe, wonders can be part of how that world works; we judge stories by their fruit.
- If a book invites you to love truth, humility, courage, mercy, and hope, it’s serving your soul, not harming it.
Keep it that simple. Then keep walking.
A Parent’s 30-Minute Routine That Actually Works
I’ve recommended this rhythm in workshops because families come back saying, “We can do this.”
Minutes 0–5 — Set the scene.
“Where are we? Who needs help? What problem is growing?”
Minutes 5–20 — Read.
Aloud, buddy-style, or side-by-side silent reading. No commentary. Let the story breathe.
Minutes 20–25 — Ask one question.
Pick just one: What lie sounded almost true? Where did someone use strength to serve? What would mercy have looked like sooner? Which promise mattered? Rotate each night.
Minutes 25–30 — Pray one sentence.
“Lord, help us love the truth and choose the light this week.” Hand the prayer to your child next time if they’re willing. Keep it short. Keep it steady.
Do that three nights a week. In a month you’ll hear your child borrowing your language to face real choices.
A One-Month On-Ramp (Paragraph Style, Not a Syllabus)
Week One: Habit and Joy. Start with a gentler adventure—one you can confidently read aloud. Keep expectations small: twenty-five minutes, three nights. Your only question this week is courage in small acts. Celebrate every moment you notice it—on the page and in your home.
Week Two: Truth vs. Lies. Move to a story where temptation sounds reasonable. Every night, ask “What lie sounded almost true—and how did we test it?” Read John 8:31–32 once or twice this week and tape it to the fridge. You’ll be amazed at how quickly kids start spotting counterfeits.
Week Three: Community and Calling. Choose a book with strong friendship or mentor scenes. Ask, “Which promise mattered, and what would have broken if it hadn’t been kept?” Add Romans 12 or Philippians 2:3–11 to the week. Watch for tiny acts of service in your own home and name them.
Week Four: Repentance and Hope. Finish with a story where forgiveness has weight. Ask, “What would repair look like here? What changed after mercy?” Read Psalm 51 or Luke 15. On the last night, go around and each share “one courage, one grace” from the month’s reading.
That’s it. No color-coded charts necessary. Just a path that almost any family can walk.
When Things Get Messy (Because They Will)
If your child admires the villain: Don’t panic. Ask what they admire—competence, courage, loyalty, flair. Agree that those are good gifts. Then ask, “Where do these gifts belong?” Competence without character becomes cruelty. Courage without truth becomes stubbornness. Use the admiration as a doorway, not a dead end.
If a series grows darker book by book: Pause. Debrief. Ask whether the darkness is revealing a deeper truth or simply flirting with despair. Christians can weep without worshiping cynicism. If hope narrows into smirk and shrug, choose a different shelf for a season.
If a “Christian” book is preachy but thin: Kids can tell when virtue costs nothing. Choose stories where repentance turns a life, where forgiveness bears fruit, where promises pinch and are kept anyway. You’re not hunting for halos; you’re hunting for honesty and hope with weight.
How This Connects to My Bible Study Guide and Story World
When I sat down to write this series and the accompanying Bible Study Guide, I pictured families sitting under lamplight, not just reading a chapter but learning how to talk. The guide uses the same five crossroads—Identity, Belonging, Power, Truth, Hope—to frame simple, repeatable conversations. It pairs short Scripture passages with the story’s scenes so that truth has both a verse and a picture. You don’t need an hour. You don’t need a classroom. You need willingness, a few minutes, and a child who wants to be seen and led.
If you’re already reading the novels, fold the guide into your week. If you haven’t started, begin with a sample chapter and the first study page. The goal isn’t to “finish” something; it’s to start something you can sustain—an ordinary rhythm of word, table, story, service that builds a faith foundation while the concrete is still wet.
The Payoff: Why a Foundation Changes the Teen Years
We can’t choreograph adolescence. We can fortify it. A child who has practiced calling lies by their names will recognize manipulation sooner. A child who has rehearsed courage in small acts will find it less strange to stand alone in a hallway when it counts. A child who has watched forgiveness cost and then heal will be less tempted to keep score until bitterness curdles everything. A child who has learned that hope is more than a mood will not collapse when circumstances wobble. None of this makes life breezy. It makes life walkable.
And it dignifies your role. You aren’t a referee keeping constant score. You’re the lantern-bearer walking beside them for a little while, long enough for the light to become theirs.
A Closing Word (and a Simple Next Step)
I believe with all my heart that the preteen years are a gift. Kids this age are old enough to understand the significance of God’s plan and still young enough to receive it with enthusiasm. The decisions they make as they enter adolescence can be greatly improved if their foundation of faith is in place before they reach that next phase of life. That’s their personal Journey to the Light—and yes, it winds through confusing crossroads. But light loves crossroads. It shows edges, reveals paths, and tells the truth about ditches.
So here’s the next step, as plain as I can make it: pick a passage, pick a story, pick a question, pick a night. Do it this week. Then do it again next week. Tape John 1:5 somewhere you’ll see it: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Say it out loud when the news is noisy. Whisper it when you turn off the lamp.
I’ll keep writing posts in this series, and I’ll keep writing stories and study guides designed to help you practice these rhythms with the kids you love. We’re not trying to build perfect families; we’re building foundations—for ordinary households who believe that truth can be beautiful, courage can be practiced, mercy can win, and hope can hold. Keep walking. Keep carrying the lantern. The path to the Light is made, one faithful step at a time.