I'm Just Saying

Dr. Paul Perkins

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For an author writing is as necessary as breathing. They don't write for money or to court literary fame, but because they believe they have something to say. It matters not that anyone will read or listen, the words must be written, and if in the process someone is blessed -- all the more wonderful

Dr. Perkins has written for a long time, but only recently has sought to publish his work and venture into new genres. He believes in education, finally earning his doctorate at the age of 55. He believes that learning never ends, giving fodder to the imagination and breathing life into the characters on his page. His hope is to continue telling stories for a new generation of readers and aspiring authors.

Dr. Perkins' first novel is "Centurion: From glory to glory", but is not his first book. He has written "Legacy to my sons", "The Lost Shepherd", "The prayer of a transformed life", "The Cost", and a verity of Christian Youth Devotionals. 

Squirrels Outside My Window


My dog is excited, he gets to look out of the window all day and watch the world pass by as he waits for his one opportunity at 4 o'clock pm to go for a two mile walk. Occasionally the squirrels sit outside the window and taunt him; he is occupied with what he will never get. It's all set before him and yet he is confined to his little box. He is a dog, of course, what more does he need?

Then again my life isn't any more exciting. His box is my box. Occasionally I get to go out, but I only move from one box to another. I meet people in their boxes and we talk about how they like or dislike what is happening outside their windows, and then I go back to my box. I try to dress up my box, make it appear more exciting, but the pictures and mementos just remind me of the restricting nature of my box.

I've had different boxes over the years, all promising excitement and purpose. Most of them were uncomfortable, so I found different boxes but they all proved to be squirrels outside my window. 


I look at other people and wonder if they like their boxes. They have smiles, seem successful, and they add on to their boxes. They drive nicer boxes, live in bigger boxes, and work in more meaningful boxes. In comparison my box is small and restricting. I have tried to make my box bigger, but everything I have tried ends in failure, maybe I am not meant for a bigger box. Maybe my box will always be small and confining.

I woke up this morning with a kink in my neck reminding me how small my box is, and the scale reinforced the futility of all my effort. I want something, but it is allusive. It is outside of my box, but I don't know what it is or where to find it. Maybe this is just the nature of our lives, to live in boxes.

My box is a melancholy place. Not because it is ugly, but because it doesn't satisfy. I don't know if I have ever had a box that truly satisfied. I have always sought to lift the cloud by pursuing ways out of the box, but they all led to different boxes, and my melancholy persists. 

For some people this is enough. They don't even think about their boxes, as if they have come to terms with it. They look comfortable, satisfied, and fulfilled. They either really like their boxes or can't perceive anything outside of their box. That is inconceivable to me. I can think of a number of boxes I would rather be in, however, I am afraid if i were there I wouldn't like them either. 

I wish there were no boxes. I dream of an existence where I am unfettered by walls that close in on me. I imagine a place where I never feel uncomfortable again, and will never have to enter another box. When I close my eyes at night I hope to awake in a different place, a glorious place, a place where I am truly free. Well, it wasn't this morning and I have some box stuff to do. I'm just saying.