Let me start by considering the definition of inspirational. I believe one of the hidden causes of arguments is when people cling to a personal definition of a word that conflicts with the other person’s definition. Ironically, they might agree if they could agree on their personal meaning of the word, At that point, their conflict would likely end. A general meaning of inspirational is to be mentally stimulated to do or feel something—especially creative. When I think of inspiration, I sense a greater source than the electrical activity in the nerve cells of our brain. Everything began with God, the creator, who created us in His own image. It is the creative capacity of the human mind, rather than physical attributes, that truly reflects the essence of being created in God’s image. To me, inspiration is a gift from God, a motivating force that compels us to make creative contributions to the world.
My inspiration to write my first book came the morning after one of the worst nights of my life. Before I elaborate on that life-changing event, let me share the seeds that were planted long before. As a child, I enjoyed writing poems and lyrics to familiar tunes. I found all the creative input I needed for my writing from television shows and movies that were popular when I was growing up. Later, my interests in sports and romance added to my list of subjects. Reflecting on my early childhood, I must have looked pretty weird writing my poems and singing my songs while other children were playing conventional childhood games.
I loved creating games with whatever I could find—store-bought toys, household objects, or things from nature. Clothes pins were very common when I was a boy. In my creative mind, they could be laid on the floor marking the contours of my space ship or arranged on two sides as two great armies about to go into combat. Even similar leaves on the ground could become soldiers wearing the same uniform.
Movies have always been a source of immense enjoyment and fascination for me, a passion that I have cherished since childhood. My parents also liked them. I remember times when we would go to more than one movie theater on the same day. At about the age of six, I began pretending to make my own movies. My older neighbor girl co-starred with me in my movies. I relate to Ralphie in the movie, A Christmas Story. “A Cowboys Work is Never Done” by Sonny and Cher, best describes me as pretending as a child. I would start a movie by pretending to pull a long drawer out of a pretend file cabinet from the back of our house. From there, I would pull a file containing the plot and all the information needed to make my movie.
I continued my creative writing in high school and college. However, the workload associated with school caused me to cut back on my personal writing. When I got to eighth grade, something significant happened. Before a middle school was built, eighth grade was in the high school. I was not ready for high school in eighth grade, or any other time for that matter, but that’s another story. One day in eighth grade math class, we must have been especially unruly. Our teacher all but lost it when he silenced the class before writing words on the blackboard like discipline and respect.
The teacher told us we were to write a 2000 word essay using those words. He likely had a second thought of compassion when he gave us an alternative. He said we could write the definitions to those words until we reached 2000.This is where my weirdness, as a child, carried over to my adolescence. Of course, I chose the essay yielding to my creative writing nature. I still remember the title—The 50th Armored Division. It was about a tank crew during a major war. I worked relentlessly on the story and turned it in the next day. The bad news is I never got it back and never made a copy. In those days, I would have needed something like carbon paper for my typewriter. The good news is a got an “A” in the class and the highest score on a major exam.
Fast forward about 63 years and you find me facing one of the most depressing days of my life. I had never seriously considered writing a book before. When I finally felt compelled to write one, it wasn’t about the money or the fame.
One night back in 2018, I found myself in a dark place. By dark, I mean depressed, hopeless, worthless, empty, evil, angry, regretful, irreversibly disappointed, and basically all bad things short of suicidal. My wife was dealing with her second round of cancer.
Now you might think that those feelings were normal. That would certainly be the case if I didn’t realize the underlying cause for much of what I was feeling. I love my wife and was deeply concerned about the mental, emotional, and physical pain that lie ahead for her. That’s the point where I should have taken my anguish to God. Instead, I reviewed my life from a selfish point of view. My mind’s eye was watching every beautiful dream about my hopes for love and romance get squashed and destroyed. It was hopeless since I was old and would likely die soon. It was a tragedy written, directed, and produced by the devil himself. I called on God in prayer, but couldn’t find him. That took me over the edge, resulting in a burst of anger, causing me to break something. I added guilt and weakness to the negatives that were defining me.
I don’t remember any details about what happened after that night until the next morning. The only thing I could think of was writing a book about a man that fixes everything that’s wrong.
I believe God had planted a seed in me when I was a young boy. I’ve always been able to picture a cowboy in a white hat riding into town, dispatching evil and saving the fair maiden. The older I got, the more I realized that the world wasn’t always as I had imagined it to be, and that the realities of life were far more complex and challenging. That cowboy didn’t always wear white because he wasn’t the ideal hero. The evil was not easily identified. Even the fair maiden was not spotless and without fault. As I grew older and wiser, I realized that only a perfect God as our savior, Jesus, could fill the shoes (boots) of my fictional cowboy. It’s only by following his lead that we can discern and then dispatch evil. It’s only through his love and grace that we can save ourselves, others, and that fair maiden. Finally, having done that, there is no need to ride off into the sunset. We are now living in the light.
With that background and my recent experience, I had all the motivation I needed to embark on a challenge that became the focus of my life. I believe God heard a prayer I never made. He knew what I needed when I didn’t even know what to ask for. As a result, the motivation for writing my first book was not only the therapy I needed, but the answer to a prayer I should have made. To this day, reading excerpts from my book rekindles the profound feelings of love and divine inspiration that guided its creation.