Author: willishmoore (Page 4 of 31)

Growing up in Deepstep, with my little friends at church, we sang ,”I have the Joy, Joy, Joy, down in my heart…”. We had no idea what it meant, nor could we—at that age. But it was a fun song with repetition and a bouncy tune. We sang with gusto. Not long ago I was in a conversation with some friends, one of whom was being bullied in a relationship. One person in the group offered what I thought was excellent advice; “Don’t let him steal your joy,” she said, with compassion.

Sandra L Brown, is CEO of The Institute for Relational Harm Reduction and Public Pathology Education. She wrote in Psychology Today; Happiness is future-oriented and it puts all its eggs in someone else’s basket. It is dependent on outside situations, people, or events to align with your expectations so that the end result is your happiness.  Happiness is something like a commodity that may be bought, sold, or stolen. It is external, subject to the wind, whims of others, or your own mood. Happiness is something like when a kid opens a Christmas gift; it may be tossed quickly aside, replaced, or shunned in an attempt to grasp another, shiny thing.

 Brown goes on to say, …happiness is not joy (emphasis mine) because joy is not external, it can’t be bought and it is not conditional on someone else’s behavior. In fact, joy is not contingent on anything in order to exist. Joy, by its very nature has that deep down inner peace—-that is beyond human understanding. In turbulent times, sunny times, or when the road is rocky that peace holds steady.

Married couples can find that difference between happiness and joy. As they meet and get to know each other, they are finding happiness. As trust begins to grow between them joy develops. They are growing into the stage of self-actualization. Psychologist Abraham Maslow says it is the top of “The hiearchy of human needs;” the process of realizing and fulfilling your own potential, which can lead to personal growth and a meaningful life.

Happiness needs someone or something else for reference, and can fade or fall depending on that other person. Joy is more like an Oak tree, calm with secure roots of sinking deeply into clay earth reaching a constant source of nutrients feeding its life.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2025

“Imposter Syndrome:” according to Health and Balance Guide Imposter syndrome is when you doubt your own skills and successes. You feel you’re not as talented or worthy as others believe, and you’re scared that one day, people will realize that. It is not a mental health diagnosis. It can hobble your well being.

Pretender is a similar word, but not malicious. There is a difference between The Imposter Syndrome, and an Imposter. Buck Ram wrote a song for The Platters, The Great Pretender. who made it a number one hit in 1955. Imposter and Pretender are often used interchangeably. Specifically, an imposter implies a more sinister motive. My college roommate was an Evis Presley impersonator, which thrilled my tween-teen youth group. His was not parody, nor is there usually any among most of the professional Elvis mimic entertainers.

The Imposter Syndrome usually means that the person has risen to heights never dreamed of and fears she/he doesn’t deserve it. I have a friend who, upon graduating college, applied for an entry-level job, but was needed in another position, a dream-job. As a result, it launched an astonishing future. A person arriving at such an accomplishment, may feel, “I don’t know how I got here, Do I deserve this choice position?”

Then, there is the person, like a recent Congressman, who forged his resume, rose dramatically on lies, and becoming a convicted felon, was kicked out of Congress. He was an imposter, of the worse sort. Then, there is someone like Mary Prince, from Plains GA. She came from humble circumstances, was asked to care for Amy and Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter’s baby. She grew into the magnificant caretaker, and later cherished author, but was unpretentious.

Great integrity, persistence, and clear focus can help anyone to significant achievement. A person who chooses wisely with authentic honesty can be successful. Shakespeare put it plainly, in Act 1, Scene 3 of Hamlet; “To thine own self be true” is spoken by Polonius, giving advice to his son Laertes before he leaves for university.

The Apostle Paul speaks to this in clear terms, as he advises; Don’t let the world around you squeeze you into its own mould, but let God re-mould your minds from within… It is that inner core that grows the strength of moral fiber.

Copyright © Willis H. Moore 2025

A call in the night can jolt you in your jammies—-even if you’re expecting it; you are awake and waiting to hear; — your fledgling college student arrived on campus safely, the final report from the hospital as a family member retires for the night. It doesn’t matter; your circadian rhythm has already kicked in;— your whole body has begun whatever relaxing it can do beginning to rest.

When a call in the night is expected, you wait eagerly for it. Back in the day, you would sit by the telephone eagerly awaiting the news. If awaiting a report of a new baby, unless you had an extension phone (that was another phone on the same line–this paragraph is in code for those born in the 21st century), the family gathered around the phone, like a moth to a flame, to get the news as quickly and as directly as possible. Depression Babies, and a few Baby Boomers remember the Party Line, which added excitement every time the phone rang.

If you want to take a really deep dip into early telephones and their usage, visit The Georgia Rural Telephone Museum In Leslie. GA, not far from President Jimmy Carter’s home in Plains, GA. His having been President skyrocketed Sumpter County straight into 21st century communications. But I digress.

I have made a couple of calls in the night. I remember the earliest call in the night I made; when Melanie was born —four weeks early. I called my former roommate at 4:00 a.m. He was not only astonished, but being single, had no concept of my enthusiastic call–he was still single. Only emergencies should qualify for a call in the night.

With smart phones, we can now avoid annoying calls. It is wonderful. Speaking of our circadian rhythms, it is not only calls in the night that upset our sleep; it is staring at a blue screen, whether on the TV, Computer, or cell phone which can dramatically interrupt our sleep patterns.

Young Samuel, an apprentice in the Temple was awakened in the night. He thought old Eli called him. It was not Eli. After sending the kid back to bed a few times, Eli told him to listen. It could be God’s voice. As it turned out. It was a dramatic call in the night. A call to Samuel’s life vocation.

Copyright © Willis H. Moore 2025

I climbed trees when I was growing up. A Chinaberry tree grew near our front porch. Lower limbs made it easy to climb that tree. One limb was an excellent place to practice “chin-ups”! My cousin, Donald, tackled challenges in his grandfather’s yard, climbing huge, sturdy hardwood trees. At their tops, it felt like seeing beyond the horizon!

Along the dirt road in front of our house was a prolific stand of rogue Sweetgum saplings between the road and field. Tall, slender, and limber, they were alluring to my cousin Donald and me. It was great fun in climbing them. The top would bend dramatically. Holding on, I would swing my feet to the side, the sapling would bend, swinging me over the sandy road. Timed it accurately, you turned loose and dropped onto the sandy road beneath. Sometimes the treetop broke off; I still dropped onto the sandy road. Thus, simply one less tree for climbing. Full disclosure: those trees were unwanted saplings, already interfering with the fence line; so no offense.

There is something about climbing trees that can wonderfully enrich childhood. The challenge, discernment, and excitement touch on so many brain (and muscle) cells. Growing up in the country, I was surrounded by trees, it was easy to choose a tree to climb—and decide if I should; Grandmother’s cherry tree (weak limbs) was an absolute “No-ne” inspite of it’s attraction.

In our first year of marriage, Paige and I lived in Coastal Georgia. We enjoyed flying kites on the beach. It was easy—there was always a sturdy breeze and the beach was fun. One Saturday afternoon, while flying a kite, I was careless with the kite and it landed in the fronds of a palm tree. Trying to impress my new bride, I shimmied up the palm tree in my shorts. I had not thought clearly about climbing a palm tree in my shorts. My bare skin gathered spines from the palm tree. So instead of being impressed, Paige became first-aid-nurse for my tortured legs when we got home.

Jesus told a funny story about climbing trees, Zacchaeus wanted badly to see and talk to Jesus; public official that he was, he willingly embarrassed himself and climbed a tree to catch a close view of Jesus. He not only got to talk to Jesus, he also got a dinner invitation.

Copyright © Willis H. Moore 2025

Mistakes. We all make them. Sometimes we try to hide or minimize our mistakes— they run the gamut. Mild, like spilled coffee—uuhhh—well that’s not so mild. All the way to deadly—as in looking at your cell phone while driving.

However, there can be an up side to mistakes; we can learn from mistakes. I suppose that is really the basic way we learn; try and try again to master a skill, practice a musical piece, or cook a meal. Fresh out of my first Army National Guard encampment as a cook, I volunteered to cook a meal for my grandparents. It was a train wreck of untold proportions. The recipe for a Company C meal missed dramatically as a family meal. They politely choked it down anyway—after all, I was their oldest grandson—-they tried to feel proud.

Psychologists Shelley Carson and Ellen Langer (2006) say there are “good mistakes” and “bad mistakes.” What makes the difference is how we respond to them. Good mistakes teach us valuable lessons. Bad mistakes are the ones we hide from in shame and regret. (from Psychology Today).

Our lives today are made much healthier, easier, productive, and fun due to a hat-full of good mistakes made over the years. X-Ray. Penecillin, Microwave Ovens, Matches, Super Glue, Post-it Notes, to name a few, These, and many wonders came as a result of a mistaken move, or accidentally creating something other than the intended outcome. One example; a scientist working to produce a specific adhesive, found one that didn’t meet the standard. It would stick but not hold fast, yet left no mark when removed. He took “from the cutting-room-floor” some pieces with him to choir practice . He used them to mark pages in his hymnal for the next church service. Other choir membres wanted to use some also; Post-it Notes—the rest is history.

Where would we be without mistakes? Even some bad mistakes— We learned to talk, walk, ride a bicycles, read, and make airplanes, through corridors corrageous mistakes. I remember teaching my little sister to ride a bicycle. Although she never broke a bone, actually I don’t remember any blood, but I remember multitudes of falls on the sandy dirt road by our house. But she learned. It became her favorite outside activity, ridng throughout the community.

We human beings are not perfect—in our efforts nor our intentions. We often get unintended consequences. Not all are bad. The good news is that God, who wants the best for us offers forgiveness and opens a better way for us. Jesus told a story of a young man whose life was the epitome of mistakes. Upon seeing his mistakes, he returned home to a forgiving father.

Copyright © Willis H. Moore 2025

(Apologies for this post‘s length. I could not bring myself to make it serial).

After decades of reflection, I have come to believe that my dad was something of a “renaissance” man. I use quotes, because he didn’t really fit into its classical definition. Stay with me.

My paternal grandparents married in the early 20th century. They divorced, apparently three or four years later. There was not any documentation in my home—conversation or otherwise—I have yet to research it. My grandmother, “Montie” moved with two small boys to Tampa Florida, where she established a chain of beauty shops, circa 1918. From family oral tradition, I gained glimpses of the story.

While Montie ran her businesses, my dad, still a school boy, was left each morning to get his little brother ready and take him to daycare before getting himself to school, where he played trumpet. After school, he delivered Western Union telegrams on bicycle around Tampa. He attended Berry College, in Rome, Georgia Barber College in Atlanta, and Monroe A & M School in Monroe, GA where he met my mother. The school was near his father’s Gwinnett County farm. He not only worked on the school farm, to pay for school, but also on breaks helped his dad on his farm.

My dad caught a bus from Tampa to my mother’s home and convinced her to go with him to Tampa, and get married. During that year, they left Tampa for Deepstep. Sometime later, I was born. My parents lived in a house on my grandfather’s farm where my dad began to farm next to their house. Dad bought a mule, Mac, for farming; He grew corn, peanuts, cotton, and a garden. For income supplelment, my dad opened a Saturday-only barber shop in a nook inside my maternal grandfather’s general store. Thanks to barber school and work in Montie’s shops, he supplemented his meager farm income.

At the end of WW II, dormant Kaolin mines were renewed in the county. Dad laced together a job at a Kaolin mine; he bought a new Chevrolet bus chassis, (production was still recovering from WW II) and located a used truck cab, bought a new hydraulic-powered dump body and went to work hauling Kaoli—- ten miles per load to the processing plant.

Dad learned to do his own truck maintenance. He bought essential tools as needed, building up his own home repair shop, I spent many hours in, under, and around his trucks as we did maintenance and repairs—ready for the next day’s hauling. He engaged a bulk gasoline tank and bought gas and oil wholesale. My daily job was to refill his truck gas tank before bedtime.

Meanwhile, he still farmed four acres next to our house, which was across the dirt road from my grandparents (a huge bonus I will always cherish). Dad bought a John Deere B tractor for tending the acreage. I was— joyfully—tasked with driving the tractor tilling and preparing the soil for our annual crop of oats etc. We had a garden, and lived next door to my grandfather’s general store. He gave us a family discount on things we didn’t grow. Although we were four miles from a paved road, we had necessities. The War now over, products (and dad’s steady income) brought some conveniences, and he bought a chest-type freezer. Meat from the farm animals was processed and frozen. My mother “canned” fruits and vegetables.

When the Kaolin mine began streamlining its shipping—pipeline and rail–trucking declined. My dad tried a variety of door-to-door sales, and other income streams. He found a job in automobile tire recapping business which turned out to be successful . After learning the business, and making productive contacts, he built his own tire recapping shop next door to our house. Then he quit his job. His only advertising was a 4×4 ad in the county newspaper, low prices, and word-of-mouth. His business thrived. He did his own work, never hiring helpers. A few years later, Radial automobile tires killed the recapping industry. Dad closed his shop and got a night job at J. P. Stevens Woolen mill. Days he continued to tend the small farm. He kept is night job until his death.

Fitting together the jigsaw puzzle of my dad’s life, I came to see how he not only survived—through two World Wars, his parents’ divorce, traumatic early years, lsuccessfully earning a hat-full of new vocations, dramatic cultural shifts, and, through difficult times—he came out ahead. I have to say, his work-ethic now lives on in his grandchildren. Therefore, at the risk of it being a misnomer, I call my dad a Renaissance Man.

In 1961 the Jarmels released the song, A Little Bit of Soap reaching #12 on the R&B charts; later it became a cover for a fair number of bands. Its catchy tune and poignant message of tortured love captured lonely hearts; A little bit of soap / Will wash away your lipstick on my face / But a little bit of soap / Will never never never ever erase / The pain in my heart, and my eyes / As I go / through the lonely years / A little bit of soap / Will never wash away my tears. But Grandma’s Lye-soap will bring even more tears—more about that later.

B. O. Plenty–a soap-o-phobe—was a character in the long running Dick Tracy comic strip, which ran for decades in the mid 20th century—a cultural indication that people not only noticed body odor, but also were able to joke about it. I find it interesting that the “health issue” of body odor developed long after bathing became a common practice. Regular baths emerged as society became more crowded and indoor plumbing was refined. Soap evolved from harsh lye soap for laundry and floor scrubbing into more delecate and scented bath aide.

Offensive body odor did not become a human hygiene/health issue until the mid to late 19th century. Until that time only minor attention was paid to smelly bodies. However, some form of soap has been used for nearly three thousand years. Royals and other wealthy people were able to afford spices, etc to tame, well, body odor sans soap. An example of perfume expense shows up in the Bible. Before the 1800’s soap was made from animal fats and alkalis—a soluble salt obtained from the ashes of plants and consisting largely of potassium or sodium carbonate.

From about 1200 to the early 1800’s, society began grouping into villages, and social interaction; by then, improvements were developing in soap making. Soap used before modern day versions—which likely your grandmother used—was called “lye soap.” Lye soap is a bit more refined than the first soaps. Here’s a humorous ditty —likely written by someone who knew of Lye soap personally—“Grandma’s Lye Soap”-came out in the 1950’s as a camp song, Here’s a verse; Little Therman, and Brother Herman, /Had an aversion to washing their ears… / Grandma scrubbed them with her lye soap, / And they haven’t heard a word in years!

One novel use of soap in the18th through the mid 20th centuries was to curb profanity, lying, biting, tobacco use, or verbal disrespect. Soap or soapy water was not only a threat, but also actual punishment—“I will wash your mouth out with soap!” as punishment for such offenses was effective.

Happily current society craves pleasant smelling interactions—we spend billions to smell good! The ubquitous industries—skincare, haircare, makeup, fragrances, toiletries, and oral cosmetics verify society’s wide acceptance of pleasant smelling humanity. It all starts with soap–a soapy cleansing.

Copyright© Willis H. Moore 2025

Neither Orkin Pest Control, nor your audiologist can treat or cure an ear-worm. It is not fatal. It is not harmful. Frustrating? Yes. Annoying? Thoroughly. But once it gets in your head, there is little you can do to remove it. You may try to block it. Once it is there, it is there ad interim To be clear, an ear-worm is not a worm; it is that tune fragment from a catchy song you heard—a sound-loop playing over and over in your head. According to Harvard Medical School, “Ear-worms” are unwanted catchy tunes that repeat in your head. These relentless tunes play in a loop in up to 98% of people in the western world. 

The reason it is difficult to get rid of an ear-worm is because you attempt to block it. Austrian Psychiatrist, Viktor Frankl calls it Paradoxical Intention. Psychiatrists now employ Paradoxical Intention with some patients to help them face and deal with fear. Another example of Paradoxical intention; while riding a bicycle, you see a pothole in the path. You keep telling yourself, “miss that pothole!” Result; you hit the pothole—because pothole was your focus. In some reports an ear-worm is also called an “Ironic Process.”

While agreeing with with real scientists, I also advise you not to try using will power to get rid of an ear-worm. The harder you try, the more ingrained it becomes. Ironic Process? Paradoxical Intention? They are good descriptions. I have known for years that Psychiatrists of note advise that instead of trying to block out the ear-worm …relax, accommodate it—let it play out. A few weeks ago, a catchy tune caught my ear. I tried to ignore it. It stuck for days! My trying hard to ignore it, dug it deeper into a brain groove. I finally said, “Oh heck! Let it play.” In time it faded among thousands of other tunes in my head.

In Psychology Today, Kelly Jakubowski Ph.D wrote an article on “Memory;” she said there could be benefits from ear-worms; 1) The majority of ear-worms do not seem particularly bothersome, 2) New research shows that ear- worms can improve memory for music and related events, and 3) ear-worms may also boost our moods in a similar way as listening to music externally. The advertising industry learned their value long ago; The first catchy tune used this way was in 1926, featuring the line “Have You Tried Wheaties?”.by a Barber Shop quartet.

When I was a kid, our pastor and his wife taught us to sing “Choruses—short songs with catchy tunes—unlike the long, laborious, songs in the hymnal. Decades later, I sometimes still hum those tunes. Charles Wesley knew the value of catchy tunes with songs that teach basics of the faith. He wrote more than 6,500 hymns, many still widely used.

This morning’s news reported that Brian Wilson, founder of The Beach Boys, died—this link refreshes an ear-worm for you.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2025

School’s out! “Freedom!”!—we thought as the doors of Deepstep Elementary School flung open into the great beyond. Nine months of classes, and now, nothing to do—Summer awaited (in those days, we had three months off!) I cannot recollect those feelings of liberation, openness and sheer joy! It was a point in time. The Present mattered.

What lay in the years ahead? We did not then ponder weighty thoughts. We were focused entirely on exploring plums ripening along the farm fence rows, blackberrys among prickly bushes, fishing in Deepstep Creek, and swiming at the Flowing Well. Life’s wonders and trials were not on our minds. We were too young to consider that life would also hold hurts, heartaches, and heavy loads on the road ahead.

How does one comprehend the future? Paige, my late wife, had a plaque on her computer table; The past is history. The future is a mystery. Today is a gift. That is why we call it the Present. That day at Deepstep Elementary School, I was in no hurry for the future—just the right-now-of-Summertime. No clock. No calendar. No thought of September-next.

On that day, if I could have seen my future, I would have been—1) too frightened by the formidable to step into the future, and/or 2) so excitedly anticipating my future, I would have missed the joys of the present. You, my dear reader, may face such conflictions. Another profound guide Jesus gave was; …stop worrying about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

His key word—“worry.” Worry debilitates, distracts, and degrades your mental, physical, and spiritual wellbeing. It is like donning a full backpack of hiking gear for running a marathon. The following statement offen attributed to the apostle Paul,, (likely because he was always so plainspoken)  Let’s throw off any extra baggage…that trips us up, Worrying—especially about the future –is as futile as it is fruitless.

A college buddy of mine found joy in teaching and singing. A retired Marine officer, he did not sit around worrying about the future. Classrooms, music practice rooms, tutoring, and volunteering in the public library—were how he found vitality. After I moved here, we began meeting for breakfast on Friday mornings. His eyes would light up as he spoke about students, music gigs, and all things present. He did not live in past regrets, nor in air castles of the future; today, the present, was his focus. I was delighted to be a part of his present in his final years

There is an old song, I know who holds tomorrow that includes these reassuring words—they speak about the future but they also call us to focus on the present: Many things about tomorrow / I don’t seem to understand / But I know who holds tomorrow / And I know who holds my hand. Music and Lyrics by Ira Stanphill (1950)

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2025