Why I Love Writing

Have you ever taken a journey into far away lands, fought dragons, saved the damsel in distress, and was home in time for the six o'clock news? I have.

Have you ever lived an entire lifetime in one afternoon? I have.

Have you ever had joy turned to sorrow, a carefree spirit turned to fear, or a bright sunny day turned black with clouds? I have.

And the wonderful thing is, I have done all these things, seen all these things, and felt all these things without ever leaving my home. You see, I read. I read everything. I've flown with Jimmy Doolittle, I've ridden into battle with Alexander the Great, I watched the gods conspire against Odysseus, and I've nailed Christ's hands to the cross. All these things because of books. Whether fiction, non-fiction, historical, fantasy, reality, or inspirational, I've read them all.

The ability to give someone that very gift is why I love writing. With words you can paint a picture so vivid, so detailed, so real...and you don't need to be able to see! Words can send someone to their death, cause another to live, and imprison or free yet another! Glorious, awe-inspiring words. String them together just right and people will line up for blocks to read your story. Jumble them up and you could end up miserable for life. Really.

There are very nearly a million words in the English language alone. Yet, only 100,000 in the French language. Either the French are very poor indeed or they are merely economical in their word choices! Either way, you can do this and you can do that and all with the writing down of a few words. Coin a word, turn a phrase. Doesn't matter. I still love writing.

It's pretty amazing, really. Consider that the main reason why I love books is because during my growing up years I was shunned, mocked, and beaten by my peers. I was too skinny, too goofy, too poor, too talentless, too hyper, too whatever else that wasn't cool. So, I found the library (two and a half blocks from my house, yes indeedy!) and I found books. My first love, really. Unfortunately, I found out that I was much more advanced in my reading comprehension than my age would allow. This further cemented my need to spend time at the library (they wouldn't allow you to check out any books from the "otherside" of the bookshelves unless you were a teenager). Of course, my home life left much to be desired, so spending time at the library wasn't exactly hard for me. In fact, I craved it. Even when I grew old enough to check out any book in the library I still spent a lot of time there.

Being a "nerd" and not having a home life that encouraged self-expression contributed greatly to my desire to stay safely locked up inside my shell, book in hand, knees tucked in tight to my chest. No one could hurt me when I was lost in my own little world. There, in that always perfect little world (not too hot, not too cold, just right), I was the perfect person. I was tall, handsome, athletic. I was smart, whimsical, and witty. There wasn't anything that I couldn't accomplish. The one thing that I did manage to accomplish, despite my perfect little imaginary world, was to stay locked up, emotionless, self-absorbed, and non-communicative.

Fast-forward a lifetime and a half (emotionally speaking). I'm no longer a child. I grew up. I married a beautiful woman, she bore me five children, and I experienced the greatest horror of my life (yes, folks, I've changed a poopy diaper...the greatest horror known to men). I learned, through many trials and tribulations, how to express myself despite myself. Going from a painfully shy boy to a confident public speaker was an odd journey, one that I didn't so much embark upon as fell upon. You'd be amazed at how being a cop can force you to find yourself. And that it did. Not to mention, being an NCO doesn't hurt, either. When your back is against the wall and you have no other choice, you talk. You communicate. You share.

Now, in order to express yourself to the fullest verbally, you need to know how to write. Writing is such a joy, such a privilege, such an honor that I don't know how to get all the story ideas out of my head and onto paper (or disk, whichever the case may be). I have so many different stories to write. If only they sprang fully formed from my head! Oh well, that is what this blog is all about. Expressing myself. Getting "it" out, whatever "it" is. And that is why I love writing!

Well, looking back on the last thirty-six years, I see how God has woven a rich tapestry and called it...Jim. I would have thought that God giving me His only begotten Son, Jesus, as a sacrificial offering of Love was enough. I would have even been ecstatic at just having the Holy Spirit to guide me, correct me, and ultimately Love me. But no, I got all that and much more. While I call myself a broken Christian, I know that God, through and through, is healing me, putting me back together in the shape and form that He originally intended. To go from nothing to something in Him is awesome. To go from a shy, clumsy kid too afraid to talk to a man willing to bear his deepest wounds using words is a miracle. May God use the talents He gave me for His glory and His kingdom.

Now, what could be better than that?