The Heart of Poetry

It is interesting to me how so many people write, whether in private, never sharing their writings, or publicly, not to publish but just to tell out loud how one feels about certain things in their lives. What is it about the act of writing? More to the point, what is it about the act of poetry? Poetry is trying to describe emotions, events, things that have affected either you or me or someone we know, and putting the emotional response in a format that is pleasant to the eye and heart. Thus, we might say that Poetry is a writing of the heart, or that Poetry has a heart.



Many people see my poems as though I am a depressed person, writing about misery. I am a reality poet writing about reality for the population of our world that many call: the have-nots. It’s unfortunate that we do not have a balance in the world, and if I say so, I will be accused of advocating communism. Nothing is further from the truth. Communism, human style, is no better than Capitalism, Socialism, Nativism, Futalism, Anarchism, any-ism one chooses. Once an -ism takes power it always becomes lop-sided anyway: those that have and those that have not. Because not everyone on the playing field has the rules, and if the rules ARE available, it may not be in the layman’s language–well, we must remember: we all have a way of communicating, and it is not the same for everyone.


Therefore, all -isms are flawed with humanity’s compunction toward greed and self-aggrandizement. This is why I write the poetry I write, not to advocate an -ism, but rather to make people a little more compassionate and empathetic toward those who may not be as fortunate as what we call: the haves.




So. Bear with me, and open your heart to what I write, it will be good for us all… it especially heals my own wounded soul. Yes, I have a wounded soul, and I believe everyone does too, for if we really delve into it, we will find some hurts here and there, in some past even, or by someone who was careless with our hearts. It does not mean we give up or die physically or instantly, but we all die a little inside when something goes wrong, and some of those things leave scars. EVERYONE has little wounds and scars in their souls, truth be told. If I were to advocate anything it might be a form of Communism, but nothing like that of human making.


I’ve heard people say that Jesus was a Communist. Jesus was Jesus. To my belief the Son of God, which makes him God in Human form, was on earth but without the pitfalls in  his character. For God overcomes the humanity in us. Make no mistake: humanity is seriously flawed, but we are also witnesses to a perfect being who walked the earth once, who advocated sharing everything equally,  living moderately, and helping the weaker brother as well as those who were suffering set-backs, in health or otherwise. There is so much value and wisdom in the Bible, not so we can follow literally without thought, as are rituals. But the Bible is a book that, if read wholly like any other book, teaches us to gather a whole picture of who God is.


Anyway, not meaning to get off on another direction and subject in this posting. it’s the poetry I wanted to talk about. Poetry is a language of emotions, don’t let anyone tell you it is not; it is. And when you read it, it does not necessarily have to make sense for you to feel emotion about it. You are meant to feel the heart of Poetry, not the mind of it… but the Heart.

 Robert Frost, Poet Lareate

Hyper-Sensitive Personality

Today, a Face book friend of mine named T. R Bell, posted something that ignited a great big question that has been in my brain for a very long time. Let me explain what she posted. Here is the post:


         “If it were possible to gather all your Facebook friends in a bar, who would you gravitate to first?” Sounds like an innocent, simple enough question. Here was my answer:


         “Definitely, my son first (he’s a bartender!). Then my other son, (I just want him there!). Then, Jim (my bodyguard and husband, haha!). And Finally, EVERYONE else on my list of 2,264 friends… I want to meet them ALL!!!
Oh! And especially all the writers: I want them at my table, “Reserved for WRITERS” so we can brainstorm about our Art.”


       Simple enough interaction. Why is this exchange so valuable you ask? Because it made me realize something about myself. First, note: she did not ask me who I would want to have come to the bar and interact with me, but who I would gravitate to first. In my mind, I imagined all these people strolling into a bar, never even registering the last part of the sentence, “who would you gravitate to first?” I was too busy getting excited about all the 2,266 friends I have on Face book, coming to hang out with me!

(Frankly, I would probably freak out if I really had people wanting to hang out with ME!)

       As I read other answers, and thought about them, it struck me. I never consider myself as gravitating from one to another, because for me, I saw the whole experience as a pleasure of being inside of the whole group at the same time, with everyone mingling, chatting, laughing, etc. all at the same time, with me, and with each other! This made me feel a part of everyone else.

       When the imagery of that moment ran through my head I sighed. I saw it clearly: I am so terribly lonely that I want to just be surrounded by lots of people that know my name and I know them right back!

       But it isn’t enough to want to be in a place and hear the song where everybody knows your name chanted. I realized that the biggest problem in my life has always been that I am lonely even if I DID have people all around me that knew me and I knew them. The reality is that I have been suffering acutely with the idea of being alone deep inside me, for all my life.

      Since I have always been a curious nature since a child as well, I look at everything in a clinical way, too. Thus, I needed to explore that reality due to the fact that it hit me as an epiphany.


       I realized that I am an acutely lonely personality and have been all my life since I was a child. I felt different than my siblings. They all could get along in the world fine, or at least it seemed, since each of them managed a consistent career. I was the only one that floundered around throughout my life, and found myself being led by others into different pursuits, and I never actually took a decisive action for my own life’s direction. I was the only one that pursued education in my family to a much higher level, all the while, taking orders, following everyone else in their own endeavors, doing paper work that achieved a certain steady flow of grading, and acquiring a certain level of approval in the form of grades and awards. All the while I was seeking after acceptance and approval—which is what I lacked all my life—I was also racking up terrible school loans and never worried that it would come back on me, for I was sure I would be accepted immediately into the teaching field. After over 200 applications and a few interviews, I became disillusioned…and job-less.


       I then began to wonder why I had such a deep sense of loneliness. Sure, everyone may say they are lonely or feel lonely once in awhile. But I realized that this loneliness I felt was a perpetual feeling I had been saddled with for my entire life, it did not matter how many degrees I acquired, nor how many awards, group memberships, or people surrounding me in a bar; I always felt that terrible loneliness, and I am positive there are others like me who have either realized this and don’t know what to do about it, or they have not realized the gravity of this concept. I began going over as many memories as I could muster, to gather evidence and to make an assessment and create a question that would take me into a journey in the discovery of my own true loneliness.

Is there a set of components that can trigger or allay such a perpetual emotional limitation? And if so, can it be recognized and changed in time?

       I have come up with memories that makes me see the kind of child I was. During my youth, I was told in school that I was an exceptional little girl, brighter than the average child. In those days, there were no gifted programs or 2e programs, or learning handicap examinations; at least, not in my school. It was only a counselor that tell parents “better do something with this child.” If parents did nothing, the child’s talents were never discovered, and if parents knew not how to deal with such a matter, the child gravitated to cultural cues, in my case: what was expected of a girl in the poor economic community in the early 60s; I got married and had babies.

       I graduated at the age of 16. In high school my counselor warned my mother that I was highly intelligent, but did not seem motivated, nor did I apply myself to anything. The only thing I did apply myself to, was drawing, acting out, and singing. Everything else was met by my clowning.

       I was depressed even back in my childhood, as I could remember looking out the window crying, and waiting for some thing or one to come and get me. How odd. It seemed I was waiting for someone like me to make me feel less alone. I never found that person, because that person was ME. The ME I should have been. After failed marriages, I can truly say, my loneliness is most likely irreparable. The only thing necessary is to accept it, understand it, and write about it, which is what I am doing. I am hoping to help younger others like me, find that someone who is like them, in themselves.


       I have come to the conclusion that psychological researchers today have begun searching the answer to my situation. I think it has become noted due to so many suicides in our culture and country.

      I believe it has to do with my being a Hyper-Sensitive Personality (Dr. Elaine N. Aron, The Highly Sensitive Person. (1996, 1998).), and I have needed much more support as a child than most. But, my senses were stunted and took me a long time to grow up emotionally, for the reason of being fairly neglected, since no one really ever tried finding out what was going on inside me; I had five siblings, and I was the youngest.

       Now that I have realized how HSP affects everything in my life relationships, I am slowly reaching the level of assertion to process and utilize what needs I may discover for growth and health. This should have happened a long time ago, of course. But if it did not, it stunts one’s ability to FEEL the love of others later on in life, and creates a perpetual need of love and affection. Don’t worry, it all sounds like mumbo-jumbo, but I’m writing about it. I THINK it has to do with touch, attention, authentic interaction as children, but not only physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. If a child is not given the proper stimulation from parents, that child will ALWAYS feel lonely no matter the environment throughout life. The trick is to recognize it, and create the prosthetic to not only survive but thrive in spite of it. I hope to change that loneliness feeling for many lonely people through my writing, and I hope to spur medical and psychological research further in regards to this topic of HSP (Hyper-Sensitive Personality).





Christmas thoughts…


© Lydia Nolan


The Little Drummer boy stands ready to play, as the three lords of lands pursue the star,

And the manger is dirty and splattered with dung, yet the Savior is humbly unmarred—

Only a Savior of men and women and children could be so undistracted by triviality

Only a Savior of people who long for truth, purpose, and love so desperately—


Has come to give the Love of God, born into a world of chaos, cruelty and barbarism,

Knowing that his message of love would ignite the hate and send Him to destruction—


Yet God saw that we needed a way out of our own dark paths of hopelessness,

So He gave us His Son to help our journey back into eternal bliss…


 So, I wondered how someone like me, with hateful, angry, or vengeful propensities,

Could find inside me: Love, kindness, a good word, and pursue the possibilities—


Of being like Him: that Love, and if I failed I reckoned God to save me,

And I remember God did! In that dirty, darkened manger—where I was set free—


And that night I slept as the babe, in a manger long ago,

For I was at peace with the Love He gave me, that I could give also,


Merry, Merry, oh, we merry ladies and men!

Christmas has given us the greatest gift of all,


That God, Himself has made a way to touch us;

That God is Love, and Love was born on Christmas.

 lamb_of_god_christian_religious_posters-rf53a0250887549e58866f90334842389_wvg_8byvr_512        images-2          e738bfd81db547889220d626341f93a9



What makes a man or a woman become…mature? And is there any such thing as spiritual maturity? We hardly think in those terms these days.

How does a child become a woman, or become a man? Are we talking about a physical appearance: years of living? Height? Having a job, career, or profession? Getting married? Having a family? All of those things are are merely symptoms of becoming a man or woman, but what makes a woman or a man become a woman or a man?

When I was a young girl, my parents may have shared with me how to “grow up” and be a decent woman, but what does that mean to a child? How does a young child, or teen-ager, or even a young adult understand the concept of “putting away childish things, and becoming a ‘grown-up’ man or woman?” I will give you a hint: it has to do with changes in one’s life, apart from being the child one is, and having the ability to realize the comparison to what a parent taught, and what the child is experiencing.

Suddenly, a choice is at hand, and it’s up to that “child” to make decisions. But that alone isn’t enough. That ‘child,’ becoming, has to experience the consequences of the decisions made, otherwise she or he has missed a “learning” that would lead one closer to maturity.I remember an experience and a choice I had once.

The first choice I remember having was a response I made to a traumatic experience with a babysitter who held my hands under a faucet and burned them. Her two twin sons also abused me. My mother could not understand why I screamed and begged and cried when she took me to be cared for by this woman, as my mother had to work.

I was only two years old, but I was trying to make a stand here, and I had consequences for my choosing: I was there only two days, and my mother–God bless her–decided to stop taking me to that woman. So my response reaped good consequences. I don’t know if it reaped good consequences for my mother, as I do not remember from that point where I went, but since I don’t have a memory of it, I assume it was pleasant enough. So I learned something that day, but it would take more than once for me to compare, analyze and make sense of it. I was two years old, for goodness sakes.

If you have ever considered the choices or responses you  made in all sorts of situations and circumstances: being abused, running away, stealing, having friends that were cruel, being cruel yourself! Even having children, marriage, taking a certain job, going out with various groups of people, studying for a test or copying someone else’s… all these things have built-in choices to which we are prone to respond and act accordingly. All these things have consequences. Maybe you haven’t grown mature enough to recognize them, but they do have consequences.

Some people especially, have to have major life-changing consequences for them to recognize the choices that brought these people to that point. Sometimes, it’s not even your choice but someone else’s and it affects your life. NOW, you have a choice. If bitterness or resentment or un-forgiveness has been your response for a choice, you haven’t yet understood the consequences are directly related to your choices. So now, everything that happens afterward are colored by the choice of perception you made by that traumatic event. That is to say, that even the worst consequences that seem like you had nothing to do with, are somehow tied to your responses, and if you think not, then they are tied to your perceptions now.

If you cannot believe me here, maybe you’ve got some more maturity to get to, before believing me. I know there is a lot more growth I have to do too, but I’ve done some and acquired maturity just from the major consequences I’ve experienced through my choices and decisions in certain things. Some of them will never get better because I was immature at the time, to make the right choices. I’ve learned a lot from my mistakes, is that easier to comprehend?

Why else do you think Jesus said, when he was being abused, tortured, and slowly killed: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”  It is obvious he knew those who had fear in their hearts, so much so that they would make irrational choices and decisions.  He knew the hearts and minds of those who made authoritative and created ways to silence people they feared. Jesus knew they did not have the spiritual maturity to understand their own fears and hatreds … today we might call it racism, bigotry, or something like that, but even those like that should be understood and given empathy and compassion.

Why else do you think that Jesus came. He also knew humans are reflective and create recordation of their history, their feats, and even their failures. Sooner or later, we’d all get it. Now that’s the kind of maturity I want–that’s the only kind that will make this a better world. I think the whole purpose for this kind of maturity is to teach us empathy and compassion so that we can have that same kind of empathy and compassion Jesus displayed while being brutally murdered by by frightened, self-aggrandizing immature souls.

FATHER, forgive us… we sometimes don’t realize what we’re doing.

Alice Lives here still…

 Does Alice in Wonderland apply to Adults?


 The answer? A resounding YES.

         Why is it that the entire massive educated world assumes that the number of years one lives is the correct depiction of one’s maturity level? That is not true. We all are listening to different drummers, detect varied rhythms, have ear for syncopation or not, construe meaning from various beats and pauses. Of course I’m speaking in metaphor, and everyone knows every person has different experiences in childhood that determines what kind of adult one may be or will be.

         This is why the story “Alice in Wonderland” is so meaningful and transcends generations. It speaks to the evolution from childhood to adulthood, and the many pitfalls, as well as benefits one may or may not choose, see, or stumble upon.


         The Hippie generation would like to say it is all about drugs, but that is not true. It may be their drummer they listened to at that time, but it’s much more than drugs or any particular component in one’s zeitgeist, that appeals only to their personal subjective experience. Alice in Wonderland is an objective, albeit romanticized to some extent, but objective perspective, nonetheless.

         Every human being, in every generation since the beginning of recorded history goes through a progressive evolution that changes their character, their personal perspective and view of life, their personality strengths or weaknesses, their understanding of others. Every aspect of their being in some way or another, changes. And if they do not follow the timeline as educational scientists like Piaget established in the educational forum, it is because they are speaking of cognitive development only, which does not work exclusively from emotional growth. This needs more research, but is considered so minutely significant, that it would take someone like me to research, develop and write about it, which is why I’m initiating this discussion here. If the emotional aspect of human beings is not included in the cognitive component, the cognitive timeline does not work.

         Thus, the discussion here is about the progressive timeline of a person’s natural growth, but not just the physical and the cognitive, but also the emotional. There must be a reason why we were made with all of these components, and I think they lead to the spiritual realm as well, but scientists definitely know absolutely nothing of the abstract world, nor are they interested. This is why I have not such a great respect and awe for science as many proclaim to have absolutely. Science is good yes, but so is the side unseen, which is necessary to the whole development of the human being.



“Alice is engaged in a romance quest for her own identity and growth, for some understanding of logic, rules, the games people play, authority, time, and death.” 

Eds. Charles Frey and John Griffin


Blog Written by: Lydia Nolan, M. Ed., English

Halloween! Time to start a Mess!


            I am a real estate broker. Although this website is mostly about my writing, I still have the ability to help people make significant changes in their lives, by changing their homes, location, and overall lifestyle, through selling their present house, or helping purchase their new home.


            But nothing is more UN-inspiring than to interview for a home to be listed into the real estate market, and to experience its cluttered feeling. Filled with junk, beautiful things, and memorabilia; all of which, yes, holds significance to the potential seller, but some of it is not conducive either to your emotional/mental health, or your physical health. And sometimes, the whole reason one feels the need to sell—outside of the obvious reasons, like foreclosure, job move, divorce, death, and the like—is because they feel overwhelmed in their own house!!

So let’s start with the Physical clutter.


            My side business is a natural talent to me. I like to RE-organize tight spaces, and move items, furniture, desks, papers, whatever—I like to organize messes! These days, there are many people who do this, including those who call themselves to the task of staging a home for sale, by organizing and/or eliminating material, furniture, and/or nic-nacs that simply have no reason for displaying them in the sale of a home. These people who help organize and re-organize everything are phenomenal people, indeed. But there is one thing we should consider.


            I have thought about this for many years. I really LOVE to organize. It’s a special mental process: 1) assess the area, 2) plan change, and 3) change… 4) reconsider the changes, and re-do if need be.

            I love this. I don’t know why, it’s in my nature, I must suppose. But I realized another thing about this. Just taking over and changing and organizing or re-organizing things for people is simply NOT ENOUGH. They need to know how, and why, and to perform these things themselves. THAT is a hard job for most of these stagers. One needs to be very good at four things: 1) empathy, 2) communication, 3) instruction 4) inspiration. I happen to have these qualities, which makes me wonder if this could actually be a … shall we say … Calling?


            Actually the activity is NOT the calling. The Calling is called “Helps,” and its actually one of the fruits of the spirit of God. Amazing isn’t it! So it truly is a calling and not just a busy-body pursuit.


            I am starting a business. It’s to reorganize peoples’ homes BEFORE they sell, and maybe once they LEARN how to organize their … stuff… they may even not care about moving. I’m into making a living of course, but I’d rather make a living helping people work in what they already have, than to move, and remake the mess. So… anyone want to be my all-encompassing client? Consultation includes:


Sales consultation of costs, vs. Reorganization costs.


            Let’s see if people even realize what they need, I think that has always been the biggest problem: people do not realize what they can do to make their lives better. It does not always mean they need to move. By the way, Happy Halloween! It’s coming, and along with it… MESSINESS and DISORGANIZATION! But don’t worry, I’m here to help.



Time is running…

“The clock is running…” I remember a teacher saying to the students—of which I was one—all the time, no matter what we were doing. Be it taking a test, running into class, doing desk work, guessing an answer, leaving her room at the end of the day, she was always reminding us that time is running.

Time is always running. Of course, since she said it so often we took the phrase for granted and waited until the very last moment to hustle. Now that I’m older I understand the validity of that phrase about time. Time is always running, and it reveals the truth about life and the responsibility we take for it. Time is also segmented so that we can pace ourselves, so we don’t suddenly have to hustle at the last minute.

We are all on the clock. No matter where we come in, where we came from, we are moving within time. This sounds philosophical, but what does anyone expect from an HSP? (Hyper-Sensitive Personality). Clearly, time is a backdrop in life, but if one is truly observant, and not only observant, but reflective, one will realize—hopefully, sooner than late—that the thread of existence that keeps us all within a course meant to create a slow-making awareness within us like evolution of the soul, can be the most valuable asset or the most horrible realization at the end.

I realize now—only too late, of course—that time is a precious commodity and should have been used better in my own life. But some do not realize this immediately, and some are acutely unaware of it in the background, thinking only their momentous drama is what counts. Some never realize time is running, and that is a misfortune.

I learned the awareness of time late in my life, which is why I was not one of the smart ones, who knew its force and power, and set myself to plan out my life carefully. Sure, I worked toward specific goals, but I should have planned that by a certain age drama and trivial pursuits should be released for more valuable opportunities that would have helped to get me where I needed to get, by a specific frame of time in order to be prepared for the physical reduction that comes in later years.

Now, I am quite late in the bloom of my life, nearly to the end as far as beauty and height in flowering, and I realize how many wasted years I spent dilly-dallying around, carrying on with useless drama, with this situation and that issue, and this person, and that broken-hearted memory, all in the guise of moving forward through time, but I was at a standstill, while time kept running. It was I who stopped moving in time, and time was still running… the clock was running, and sooner or late it would stop for me, of which I was never aware.

Every day is a precious moment for choosing what one must do to make it to the next moment and the next, and like a journey, assess the location in time where one finds oneself. I don’t mean one needs to rush through, or hurry the pace. Just make every moment an awareness of a chain of events in moments. Assess what is being done and make good choices—I did not. Now, I live from day to day, wondering if tomorrow I will have another chance at an opportunity that will benefit me, and at the same time not overburden my family, keep me steady and healthy on the treadmill of life, and make my life a sense of accomplishment. Everyone wants to feel they have played their cards well, as well as they can play them. But not everyone realizes that it is time that teaches us what we have accomplished—time is always running…make the most of it, or you will find yourself only DREAMING of what it could have been, instead of having it be.


Fearfully and wonderfully made… yes, we are…


14 I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

Wonderful are Your works, And my soul knows it very well.

~Psalm 139:14.

Yesterday, I was driving about, when I had an epiphany about people in general; and then, about myself in particular. 

Every car, bus, truck, and motorcycle—of which I suddenly became acutely aware—were all suddenly metal or titanium vessels in which human bodies rode within.

These human beings with physicality harbored all the DNA details, desires and disturbances in the physical body, all that which thrives upon the hopes and dreams and happiness and despair of the human body’s reaction to the rest of the world.

These physical bodies hold more deeply within the soul and energy (spirit) of the beings, the truth of those reactions and responses.

It was amazing to watch all these bodies of energy and souls moving in directions, keeping steady paces with their cars, all following the lights and rules for pedestrians, regulations for turns, and guides on roads, highways, freeways, streets, and in parking lots at stores, post offices, and shopping centers, etc—knowing full well, that their minds and souls were interacting with memories and joyous or traumatic events that occurred in their lives, and I was blown over by the reality of this phenomenon. The metal or matter with which they were surrounded disappeared and I saw them gliding through movements, intently looking forward to wherever they planned to go. Some of those bodies I envisioned crying or laughing, or going through funerals or weddings, or going to the doctor, and on and on and on. I saw all these people, and I was overwhelmed by emotion and felt that tinge that tells all of us when tears are about to display the slight pain in our hearts—the pain of compassion and empathy.

Not everyone goes through this, but those who are hypersensitive to the world around them, like myself, like the few “HSPs” (hypersensitive personalities) that witness such epiphanies and come to some sort of resolve within their spirit. Even some HSPs do not go that far. They simply experience the epiphany and leave it at that. But those of us who are deeply affected by this type of personality know what happens next. 

I suddenly realized I was one of the many doing exactly as others were doing, and I felt emotional because I had snapshots going on in my head while driving, of my daughter’s dilemma, my sons’ decisions, my husband’s inability to understand me, my own inability to make myself known; those I loved, who died, and I missed so terribly, and those who were born recently that I prayed God would be merciful to, since they too, would become one of us. Do you think this is all I thought about? No.

I realized that we had laws in place for drunk drivers, text-ers, teen-age new drivers, and so forth, but! We had nothing in place for those who are thinking so intently (as I was) and make mistakes on the road because of it. I realized that many of our “accidents” on the road is particularly the fault of our not paying attention because we are working out scenarios in our minds, and feeling the emotions that are attached to such scenarios. I realized this because I am one of the many, and therefore, that makes me an expert in human behavior.

Next, I began to compare the differences in distractions during being on the road. Drunk driving is all its own problem, as well as having taken sleeping pills or pot, or taking hyperactive or diet pills—essentially any mind altering drug: all these are or should be in the same category because the natural mind is altered, and cannot be relied upon to do the same and act the same as when it is in its natural state. Therefore, there ought to be (as there is) severe punishment for these people who think it’s okay to spread their need to alter themselves upon innocent bystanders who do NOT take anything but are effected just the same by drinking and drugs, through translation.

Next, I began to consider the difference between texting and mind altering drugs. The difference is that the person may be in his or her natural state, but they are distracted by messages that could actually change their mood from dark to light, or visa-versa, nonetheless, changing and distracting from the energy to PAY ATTENTION to the road ahead. But here is the reality of texting in itself. Texting is not the actual problem—just the symptom. Distraction is the problem. I nearly hit a woman’s car on the side when she pulled adjacent to me, into my lane, while showing some kind of garment to her passenger. She did not even see my car next to her. I had to swerve. On the freeway, I have been thinking so deeply about one of my children, that I had entered another lane forgetting to look back AS WELL AS the rear view mirror due to a blind spot on my sports car. Thank GOD that person WAS paying attention, and SWERVED.

How do I tie all this together? Human beings are so amazing. They can interact with others as well as interacting with themselves at the same time. That means they are following rules on the road, parking lots, library and postal drop-offs, and so forth, and at the same time, be thinking about a host of issues in their lives. We truly are wonderfully made. But we truly are fearfully made too. There is a bible verse that talks about that.

To be fearfully made, the term “fearfully” has changed today, but back then, it meant to have respect for, or awe, or a great deal of honor to. To be wonderfully made is to admit that with all this great honor of a making, it is also greatly capable of so much.

So the POINT I wanted to make here is how little respect we have for each other in the world, yet how capable we are of making a courteous, respectful, and truly excellent world if we really tried to focus on that. Do not be distracted when other lives are at stake. Every time someone gets on the road they owe millions of others respect, courtesy, and kindness. A driver is not only affecting those other drivers but their families, friends, and even people that don’t know them yet, but should.

We all complain about losing people we love, whether by accidents, drunkenness, or just plain stupidity of themselves or someone else. But THINK: if every human body and soul were focused on what they should be focusing upon, there would not be distraction, and there could actually be less loss.

 Thanks Mom and Dad, for teaching me Bible truths even before I understood them. It was for epiphanies like this one. 🙂 


Writing is a passion, and Sometimes, passions are painful…

If any one of you reading this, is a writer, you will understand the title quite well. There is this passion inside of me as a writer, to convey something, whether it’s a joke, a story, an essay on why suffering is prevalent in the world, or just a descriptive moment observing someone’s profile… it’s all there… passion in wanting to share an innermost sense or thought, or observation. There are times, however, when that passion feels painful, and we are not quite sure why, just that it is hard to get it down on paper. The feelings are there, the emotional pain is there, but the words don’t come easily, and so it is actual pain. The only way it will be released eventually, is when we can get it down on paper.

It is not far from the truth when Hemingway said: Writing is easy, just sit down at a desk and open a vein. If someone tells you it isn’t hard at all, nor painful, nor such passion as I am describing, that someone is most likely a shallow person, and ultimately creates shallow writing for the shallow reader… there is a place for us all. I am talking about a very unique kind of writer, storytelling, and reader: deep, passionate emotions, hidden beneath the exterior and conventionally polite politics of human interaction. It is the kind of thing we never talk about in the open. It is those particular things that make us cry, or make us feel lost, or make us so innately pleased with life, or angry so much that we actually do something about that part of life. It is the kind of writing that after hurting the writer in putting it down on paper, it hurts the reader….but good. It is the kind of reading that makes people change, move mountains, shake their lives like a gorilla shakes a tree.

I promise you, if you are that kind of writer, it is not far fetched to say you open a vein daily, just to put it down for someone to understand that emotional moment of which you speak. It hurts so good, and sometimes, it hurts so bad… but it must be told, because as they say of the muse, when the muse comes calling, the writer has no choice but to bleed.