Why I write 📝 

I write, not because I know the answers, but because I’m lost in a sea of bewilderment and wish to understand the complexities of life and comprehend the intricacies that make people so complicated yet so alluring. I do not write because humans are perfect, by no means are we perfect, but that’s what makes us exceptional, our ability to change, if we humble ourselves and admit our human frailties and seek truth. If we were perfect then there would be no stories, no lessons of serenity found through grace after the trials and tribulations we face in this just as complex world. For sentient creatures such as us need to grow through hardships in an unperfect reality so that we may reach a Utopian existence that we have finally earned through living and surviving in this sin filled temptress land.

I write because,

“whenever someone has a ready heart for this, the insights and understandings flow freely” Matthew 13: 11-15/ The Message

I write because I have been given

“God blessed eyes- eyes that see! And God blessed ears- ears that hear!” Matthew 13: 16-17/ The Message

I write because I see more than just bodies, I see character.

A Character by William Wordsmith

I marvel how Nature could ever find space 
For so many strange contrasts in one human face: 
There’s thought and no thought, and there’s paleness and bloom 
And bustle and sluggishness, pleasure and gloom. 

There’s weakness, and strength both redundant and vain; 
Such strength as, if ever affliction and pain 
Could pierce through a temper that’s soft to disease, 
Would be rational peace–a philosopher’s ease. 

There’s indifference, alike when he fails or succeeds, 
And attention full ten times as much as there needs; 
Pride where there’s no envy, there’s so much of joy; 
And mildness, and spirit both forward and coy. 

There’s freedom, and sometimes a diffident stare 
Of shame scarcely seeming to know that she’s there, 
There’s virtue, the title it surely may claim, 
Yet wants heaven knows what to be worthy the name. 

This picture from nature may seem to depart, 
Yet the Man would at once run away with your heart; 
And I for five centuries right gladly would be 
Such an odd such a kind happy creature as he.

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