I Believe In Angels

Have you ever seen an angel?

Contrary to popular belief, angels don’t necessarily have wings and wear halos. Most don’t live in heaven playing the harp the way they do in fairy tales. They walk among us. Every day we pass them on the street, at traffic lights, waiting in line at the grocery store. Sometimes, we get to be the angels, while sometimes others become angels to us.

It’s amazing to me how people in general, despite all our bazillions of differences, have an ingrained instinct to help one another. I mean, okay, I know it’s not every single person on the earth, but for the most part, people are good. They—we—just are.

We care about each other.

Consider natural disasters, or massive tragedies, or other instances in which large groups of people are in need. We donate money, and blood, and time. We send supplies and help rebuild cities. Because at the end of the day, we recognize that we are all human beings. Fragile and needy.

Over the weekend, I was witness to a miracle. Smaller scale than those world-wide ones, but bigger, much bigger, for the family who was in need. It doesn’t matter who or why, just that a week ago, a young family I know was given one week to come up with an amount of money most of us would have cringed at in order to schedule a life-saving surgery for their infant son.

One week. Their hopes were very low that this would happen. But then someone sent out an email asking for people to donate pocket change in place of hope. Nothing much. Just a few dollars if you can, and please help spread the word by forwarding this email to others. (BTW, the family had no idea this was happening.)

In one week, that single email was forwarded across the country and back, and donations rolled in. Because people really are good. And because we’ve all needed the help of angels at some point, and for the bargain price of the change in our pocket, this was an opportunity for each of us to be the angel.

In a matter of five days, the angels managed to deliver. Not the full amount, mind you, but a very large portion of it. The parents of this baby were stunned, emotional, and very, very grateful. To all those who got that email and either donated it or forwarded it, the whole family (myself included) thanks you.

When was the last time you had angels help you? And when were you last an angel to someone else?

Write It Down!

(*Before I get to this blog, do you remember that book review blog I talked about starting last month? Well, I started it. After this Wednesday, most of my reviews and author interviews will be posted there, starting with a review of Imprints by Rachel Ann Nunes. Go check it out and become a follower. I promise to have cool contests there, too.) And now on to my Monday topic.

Ah, the notebook. A writer’s best friend and constant companion in which we are constantly scratching notes, doodles, lists, and other various tidbits of thought that come to us at all hours of the day and night. Why do we do this? Because our thoughts, epiphanies, spiritual promptings or universal direction are priceless. And if we don’t write them down, we will forget.

Did you get that? We WILL forget. I don’t care about your spectacular memory skills, because the truth is, we can’t all remember every single thing that has ever happened to us. It’s not humanly possible. We forget. We will all forget the most important moments in our lives. Unless…

We write it down. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down.

I can’t say that enough. Think about it. Cameras were invented so people could capture certain moments in time, freezing those images and embedding them on paper to be remembered forever. But there is no camera that can capture a feeling in your heart, words in your head, or a universal aha moment that may—or may not—end up being a life-altering realization. We have to write it down, just as we would aim and click a camera.

Don’t worry about spelling or grammar or if you have the skills to do it right. Just write it while you can, and fix the mistakes later.

Okay, so now you’re saying, “But I don’t know what to write,” or, “I can’t find the right words.”

See, here’s the thing. Once you touch pen to paper, just allow yourself to let it flow. Write and write and write until you find the words, because eventually they’ll come to you. Writing in itself is cathartic, not to mention therapeutic. Only on computer screen or paper can we continue to truly pour out our innermost thoughts and feelings until we’re empty.

But here’s a secret. You’ll never actually be empty, because the more you write, the more you feel and think and see, and you will find you have more to say. Writing in itself tends to be a unique spiritual experience for the writer. Even the writer who isn’t writing to be an author.

There is no pause or rewind button for life. But some things are meant to be remembered. Write them down. You will never be sorry you did, but you will certainly be sorry if you don’t.

Super Quick: Launch Parties and Charitable Donations

I totally don't have time to be blogging today, but I just can't help myself. Today is a big day for one of my author friends, James Dashner, who's book The Mazerunner is on shelves and available TODAY!!!! This book has been a long time in coming, and he's been counting down the days for months.

So, because it's finally here, and because I can practically feel his excitement over the point of the mountain and like, twelve cities away, I just have to share.

He's throwing a party.

It's going to be HUGE.

Apparently, he has invited everyone on Earth. Literally. (Don't believe me? Check out this blog.) That includes you.

You can be one of the first to own his new book and get it signed.

Where? The King's English bookstore 1511 South 1500 East, Salt Lake City, UT.
When? 5:00 PM today.
How? By getting in your car and driving there. Duh.

For those not living in Utah, James will be heading out for his first major Mazerunner tour this week, so check his blog to find out when he'll be in your area. He LOVES visitors, especially Dash-fans. =)

In other news, one of my very good friends is in charge of putting together a fundraiser for the Clear Horizons Academy, a preschool for autistic children. All proceeds go toward the school and tuition for special needs kids whose parents wouldn't otherwise be able to afford the kind of care these children need.

They are currently accepting items of all sizes and values for their auction. If you or someone you know would like to donate, contact me at writenichole at gmail dot com and I'll forward you more information. Remember, every small donation adds to the larger number. (Books and promotional items welcome.)

Okay, now I'm late. Gotta run. Until next time, write on!

Nichole

The Spirit Told Me to Speed

By Nichole Giles

Cindy Beck, who is a great friend of mine, wrote an blog a while back about following the promptings of the spirit. Her article inspired me to think back on some experiences of my own.

As I searched my mind, several instances occurred to me. I’ve probably received hundreds or thousands of promptings throughout my life, but a few specific times came to mind, when the still small voice whispered more loudly than usual and I was able to see a result of heeding those instructions.

For example: Just after I turned thirty, I was finally able to talk my husband into letting me buy the convertible I always dreamed of. It isn’t anything fancy, and not very expensive either. But it is impractical, which is why very few families with several children own them.

For me, though, it wasn’t as impractical as, say, driving all over town in a family sized SUV while all my kids are in school. So, while my convertible is something of an indulgence, it gets good gas mileage, and that helps me justify it.

Anyway, we got the car in the spring, and I spent the entire spring and summer driving with the top down—no matter how cold the spring or how hot the summer. That’s why I bought this particular car. One day, I was driving down the freeway—on my way to some appointment or another—and I was in the far right hand lane, otherwise known as the slow lane. I had my stereo up to a deafening volume and was singing along at the top of my lungs, when a glass truck drove up next to me.

Something told me, “Speed up, get out of the way.”

Well, with my music so loud, it’s a miracle I could even hear. But I took a chance and craned my head around to look. Three or four ladders were mounted on the side of the truck. They looked stable enough, but again, I felt a very strong warning. “Move!”

A thought crossed my mind about what might happen if a ladder were to fall on me—going sixty-miles an hour on the freeway—with no roof to protect my head. OUCH! So I hit the gas, speeding past the truck. My heart pounded in my chest like a bass drum. As I slowed my speed again, I happened to glance in my rearview mirror, and watched in horror as one of the ladders fell off the truck and tumbled to the ground where I’d been driving only seconds before. The car behind me slammed on its breaks, narrowly avoiding an accident.

Luckily, that day, no one was hurt. There is no way I could have known that a ladder was going to fall off that truck—except for the whisperings in my ear. I shudder to think what might have happened if I hadn’t obeyed the Spirit by breaking the speed limit.

I’ve told that story to several people, but it occurred to me today that I’ve never written it down. Strange, how easily we set aside those experiences that strengthen our testimonies and enforce our beliefs.

I have to thank Cindy for reminding me of that incident, because this time, I decided to write it down and share it. And, well, if you see more of this type of story from me in the next little while, I’ll give her credit for those too. It’s a great friend indeed, who reminds you about all the juicy little tidbits of wisdom that are buried deep within your memory.