(Written in the midst of 2020) I​n this season of our world, or I should say of our country, many events may come to mind. Whether good or bad, history is being made in 2020, and if you're anything like me, you're feeling the need to write something about it. But in all of the chaos of pandemics, isolation, protests, riots, unrest, injustice, and over all frustration, where do you even start? As writers, we feel the need to capture something from this, but what?! With a multitude of opinions, emotions, and perspectives surrounding us, it's hard to know what to write or even how to write it. You feel as if something you write could be deemed wrong, terrible, dare I even say, sinful in the eyes of your audience. Writing the hard things is just that, hard. Writing what people are feeling but don't want to discuss is a difficult thing. In history, philosophers were black-balled, even killed for doing so. We came to know them centuries later as thought-provoking men and women ahead of their times, but that didn't necessarily help them while they were alive. Even the God-ordained writers of the Bible to this day offend and cause debate across the world over their accounts in Scripture. So, what can we do?! Do we write what we feel will be accepted by audiences right now, or the emotions and reasoning of now, though it may lead to the metaphorical "death" of our writing careers? Speaking for myself, I am a people-pleaser by nature and this thought has come as a stumbling block for my writing. My problem is, there're sides to every conflict, but most only see two sides. History normally is written about two sides, the winners and the losers. Is that all history is made up of though? I don't believe so. I feel every person or group of people in history, winner, loser, right, or wrong, had failures and triumphs during their time on this earth. History, in my opinion, is meant to give us insight and knowledge into these successes and downfalls. As the old saying goes, "Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it." But what form of history should be included in that statement? Textbooks from school? Elders? Written or spoken accounts from varies perspectives and walks of life, even if not the same as yours? Diary entries? The answer I believe is this: History should be gained from all accounts of human interaction and emotion, because insight can be gained from any direction, if one is willing to look. God could have easily made the Bible pop out of thin air with no human hands ever touching it, but He didn't. Why?! Because the human account made for varying viewpoints, emotions, and lessons that could be recorded and learned about. Two people can read the same Scripture and gain two different revelations about it, the same as two siblings can grow up in the same household and come out with different perspectives and be opposites of one another. We were never meant to think like everyone else, we are uniquely made and our lives are uniquely shaped by the environments and stream of events we experience. To get back to our question: What do we write about these events? T​he conclusion I came to through my praying and complaints (and yes, I admit I do complain to God) was this: Write Anything. Just as you were never meant to be everyone's best friend, your writing was never meant to please, teach, or touch everyone it comes in contact with. There will be those who will reject your views and beliefs on a topic, making you question your abilities. But my friend, there will be those who come to your words with grateful hearts for what was read, because they needed to see someone else felt the same way or cares the same as they. Will it impact the world the way the great writers of the past have? I can't say that for sure, but just as Jesus left the 99 to save the one, your writing is meant to reach those who are truly in need of it. For this reason, God created writers. The gift of written word is in itself a ministry: one that can adjust and form itself to fit into whatever part of time it has been placed. It's a gift not to be taken lightly or pushed aside as nothing. God has called your words to be a help and a blessing to others, I pray you never forget that in the times we live in.

(A poem written about my son Luke I read at his funeral Sept. 2018) You came to this world in the early bright of day Your innocence and love just swept me away The day you arrived, life never was the same My Silent Preacher Your life started as all children's do but soon we found there was much more to you Your illness came forth before we even knew My Silent Preacher Skills slipped, words went away Still you smiled and laughed the fear away Your courage and hope helped give way to new day My Silent Preacher Your presence and grace shone through to others From the ends of the earth, and even to your brother Your influence and light gave way to new tomorrows My Silent Preacher Sometimes your humor was hard to keep sorted Laughing at others pain made you seem a little distorted No blame could be had after the sight of your smile My Silent Preacher You worked hard and saved many but you started to grow tired God saw you like this and decided you could retire "Come with me my sweet child, you can be with My Son." My Silent Preacher You went the very way that you came Early in the day, your breaths short and spent We watched the Lord take you, to heaven you went My Silent Preacher Where pain and suffering melt away at His Hands Our tears were shed but in our hearts we were glad For we heard His voice say "You've done well, My Fair Lad." My Silent Preacher The days after will be dim stars won't twinkle like they did before still your light illuminates through the sorrow My Silent Preacher Your body may have passed away but your soul and message remain the same to carry God's purpose no matter the condition You've reached so many within the silence of your voice Love, strength, and courage that testify of Jesus more than any teacher You will now and forever be, My Silent Preacher.

(Written in 2018 in regards to parenting my sons with GM1 Gangliosidosis Type 2) It’s frightening and almost inhuman how watching your terminally ill child (or any child of hardship) go through mental, physical, and emotion hell without even saying a word can scream into the depths of your very being and make you crumble into a pile of emotions that feels everything, and yet, nothing all at the same time. It’s as if you have just watched someone rip your own heart out and you just look on as it gets stabbed over and over again. You feel every ounce of pain and agony, and all you can do is watch. You can’t stop it. Everything in you as a parent that tells you to make everything okay because your child's suffering screams and wails inside of you. Your heart and soul ache, longing to take all the hurt away but you’re powerless. You grab and hold tight the moments of temporary stability knowing that at any second, it will vanish and you’ll be running blind in the dark to grasp onto something else. The endless nights of crying seem to pile on in numbers. The moments of yelling at the ceiling toward God to please save you and your child from the insanity that is this disease are beyond counting. You beg and you plead, but you feel that the shadows of illness are going to ingulf you. So, is that all there is?! Darkness and hopelessness?! No, not even close. There’s more emotion. Emotion that you never truly appreciate at full value until now. It’s in the midst the moments of tears and hurt when your child tightens their grip around your finger and the warmth of their hand causes the nightmares to disappear. It’s the tenderness of your child’s smile as you hold them in your arms after you’ve lost your voice from calling out to the Lord, and the joy melts away the sadness. Because even though the bad times seem harder, the good times shine brighter and appear in the smallest of acts. Even in a day full of misshapes, the sound of your child’s laughter can linger in your heart, holding peace in the midst of chaos. It’s in those moments, I believe we’re given a chance to breathe, to collect ourselves, and to have something solid to hold in our hearts to go and do it all over again. Yes, there are dark moments that seem to just go on, but the moments of love and empowerment, great or small, are limitless. Hold tight to the small embers of peace and joy. In them is the power to kindle fires that cannot be easily extinguished. Those flames will leave your heart on fire long after the darkness fades.