Skip to content

Tag: #Empathy

The writing prompt for today asks:

“What’s a personal mantra or philosophy you live by?”

I laughed when I saw it.

Not because I didn’t know the answer.

But because I’ve spent the past few days thinking about it without realizing it.

If you had asked me this question when I was young, my answer might have been very different. I might have talked about hard work, determination, goals, faith, family, or perseverance.

Today, after many decades of life experience, my answer is much simpler.

People Are Carrying Stories We Cannot See

Life has taught me that every person is carrying a story.

Some stories are obvious.

Others remain hidden.

People carry grief.

People carry illness.

People carry loneliness.

People carry regrets.

People carry fears.

People carry disappointments.

Sometimes they carry burdens so heavy that simply getting through the day requires more courage than anyone around them realizes.

The longer I live, the less interested I am in judging people and the more interested I am in understanding them.

I’ve learned to ask questions.

What happened to this person?

What struggles have they faced?

What losses shaped them?

What strengths helped them survive?

Questions don’t erase accountability.

But they often create understanding.

And understanding makes room for grace.

Screenshot

These Are the People Who Made the People Who Made You

Many years ago, I became fascinated with genealogy.

As I researched ancestors, collected records, and pieced together family histories, I discovered something remarkable.

Every person is built upon countless lives that came before them.

People crossed oceans.

Survived wars.

Endured poverty.

Raised children.

Buried loved ones.

Started over.

Took risks.

Made sacrifices.

And because they did, we are here.

One of my favorite phrases in a baby book I created for my great-granddaughter was:

“These are the people who made the people who made you.”

I still believe that.

None of us exists in isolation.

We belong to a much larger story.

Screenshot

The Lord’s Tender Mercies

One of my favorite phrases comes from the scriptures:

“The tender mercies of the Lord.”

Over the years, I’ve learned that tender mercies aren’t always dramatic.

Sometimes they’re surprisingly ordinary.

A phone call.

A memory.

A photograph.

An old file discovered on a hard drive.

An encouraging conversation.

A relationship beginning to heal.

A little more time than I expected.

Sometimes the greatest blessings arrive quietly.

They don’t remove the trial.

They simply help us continue walking through it.

I’ve experienced many of those tender mercies throughout my life.

Some appeared exactly when I needed them.

Others weren’t recognized until years later.

Love Survives More Than We Think

I’ve lived long enough to learn that life rarely unfolds exactly as we planned.

Families face difficulties.

Relationships become strained.

Illness enters the picture.

Dreams change.

Mistakes happen.

There have been seasons when I wished circumstances were different.

There have been times when people misunderstood me.

And there have been times when I misunderstood others.

But one lesson keeps returning.

Love can survive more than we realize.

It can survive distance.

It can survive disappointment.

It can survive misunderstanding.

It can survive time.

Love does not always prevent pain.

But it often outlasts it.

The Philosophy I Live By

So if I had to summarize my personal philosophy in a few words, it would be this:

People are carrying stories we cannot see.

Look for the story.

Offer grace whenever possible.

Notice the Lord’s tender mercies.

Remember where you came from.

And never underestimate the power of love to survive difficult things.

Life has taught me that understanding another person’s story doesn’t change the past.

But it can change the future.

And sometimes, that is miracle enough.

❤️


Thanks for reading.
Shirley

Leave a Comment

A New Novel Is Quietly Taking Shape

I’ve spent the past several months living inside a building that doesn’t exist.

At least not the way I’m writing it.

It’s an apartment building in Cincinnati, populated by bricklayers, widows, schoolteachers, bakers, artists, maintenance workers, immigrants, flood survivors, and countless ordinary people whose names never appeared in history books.

And yet, the more time I spend with them, the more convinced I become that their stories matter.

Perhaps even more than the famous ones.

The novel I’m currently working on is called The Collector.

At its heart, it asks a simple question:

What survives after we’re gone?

A photograph?

A letter?

A favorite recipe?

A journal?

A building that remembers the people who once lived inside it?

As I’ve written, I’ve been surprised by how often the story returns to the same idea:

Most people believe their lives are ordinary.

But ordinary does not mean unimportant.

In fact, the people history forgets may be the very people worth remembering most.

I’m not ready to share many details yet.

The mysteries are still unfolding.

But I can tell you this:

The story begins with a young immigrant bricklayer in the 1850s and stretches across generations of lives connected by a single Cincinnati apartment building.

And somewhere within those walls lives a question that refuses to go away:

Who remembers the people no one else remembers?

More soon.

For now, I’m heading back into the past.

The characters are waiting.

Leave a Comment

Silent Sunday 9/13/26

—Shirley

Leave a Comment