Creative Writing for the Creator

It is well known and said that childhood plays a vital role in creating and fashioning one's personality. And, of course, the memories we are able to access may or may not reflect the reality of facts. I guess what I am trying to convey here is that emotions may magnify, distort, conceal, in sum, play with our minds to such an extent that all we have left of our childhood are our 'memories' as we perceive them.  With that being said, other than photographs, documents and videos, I am making a conscious choice to recall my past life as candidly as I possibly can, holding on to my own perceptions and feelings. I will not relate every single detail, lest I bore you (or myself) to tears. I will admit that my account may not coincide with the views and recollections of those with whom I have had contact or crossed paths for a little or a longer time. However, this is my blog and I reserve the right to write as I deem appropriate and applicable. Therefore, I will be writing about...

Depression. What is it exactly? It is in our human nature to seek answers. Can depression be defined (and confined) within a definition entry?  Depression can be as deadly as a terminal disease. It develops somehow inside our minds and starts to eat away at us. Have you ever been depressed or know someone going through depression? YOU ARE NOT ALONE. Today I am finally ready to start sharing my journey battling depression. I am a survivor. And I will tell you my story. So, read on.  Though I am not certain where to begin, I know I do have to start somewhere ... So I will write from a remembrance as it resurfaces: a situation, a feeling, a smell, a sight, a song ...   As we partake of this journey, you will be my companion, and I, yours. A journey of discovery, of startling insights, of unexpected awareness. But, most of all, a journey with a goal: ongoing rescue and deliverance from depression into a life lived to the fullest .  Together we ...

Que criança é essa que, descansada, no colo de Maria  está dormindo? A quem os anjos exaltam  com hinos doces, enquanto os pastores vigiam? Este, este é Cristo Rei, a quem os pastores guardam e os anjos cantam: Apressem-se, apressem-se a lhE trazer louvor, o bebê, o filho de Maria.  Por que Ele está em tão mau estado, onde boi e burro estão se alimentando? Bons cristãos, temam; aos pecadores aqui a Palavra silenciosa está implorando. Pregos, lanças, devem atravessá-lO; a cruz carregada por mim, por você: Saudem, saudem a Palavra feita carne, o bebê, o filho de Maria.  Então tragam-lhE incenso, ouro e mirra; venham, camponês, rei, a reconhecê-lO ; O Rei dos reis a salvação traz, Permitam-se corações amorosos entronizá-lO. Elevem, elevem a música ao alto, a virgem canta sua canção de ninar: Alegria, alegria pois Cristo nasceu, o bebê, o filho de Maria. (Traduzido por L. E. Skelton do original escrito por William Chatterton Dix em 1865)...

  What child is this who laid to rest, on Mary's lap is sleeping? Whom angels greet with anthems sweet, while shepherds watch are keeping? This, this is Christ the King, whom shepherds guard and angels sing: Haste, haste to bring Him laud, the babe, the son of Mary.  Why lies He in a such mean estate, where ox and ass are feeding? Good Christians, fear; for sinners here the silent Word is pleading. Nails, spear, shall pierce Him through; the cross be borne for me, for you: Hail, hail the Word made flesh, the babe, the son of Mary.  So bring Him incense, gold, and myrrh; come, peasant, King, to own him; The King of kings salvation brings, let loving hearts enthrone Him. Raise, raise the song on high, the virgin sings her lullaby: Joy, joy for Christ is born, the babe, the son of Mary. (Written by William Chatterton Dix in 1865)   Who could ever guess that Mary,  while kissing the face of her baby,  was kissi...

Palavra sem sentido  não é palavra: é rabisco Rabisco não prova nada O que prova algo toca fundo no abismo de cada ser Amigo escrito não é amigo Só fica sendo se for gravado com as tintas do sentimento  nas linhas do coração:      AMIGO-IRMÃO!...

Meu fundo de quintal encantado Encantada estou, com teu encanto No ar livre deste ensolarado setembro Contemplo fixidez e movimento   Ou ç o o ru í do leve Dos ramos que a brisa balan ç a Staccato! Sil ê ncio breve: Cessa a verdejante dan ç a   Ao longe, pipila o canto de uma ave feliz Enquanto tanta gente diz: “N ã o sabia que era feliz!”   E eu, neste encantado recanto Imito o glissando dos colibris: “Sou feliz! Sou feliz!”

It is never too late to realize that Proverbs is a book about relationships as God intended them to be:  A guide to Wisdom and to be wiser when dealing with one another in this world of complex human interactions. As a woman, I am always learning what the Lord desires from me. I find it fascinating to study His Word, and, more and more, I realize my ignorance, my short-sightedness.  I am convinced that acquiring true Wisdom starts with loving God and putting Him first in my life. Amazingly, it brings me back to the right perspective every single time. And I feel loved and protected by a caring, protective Father who chastises me when I go wrong. And I yearn to please Him!  A metamorphosis: from caterpillar to butterfly.  As I study Proverbs, I learn to transform into the lady He desires me to be. I am learning, from the inside out, how to use these beautiful wings.