WC Douglas's Bookstore

Wendell C. Douglas, PhD, MEd, is the founder of LearnTrax Education Services, a creative resource where coaching, ministry, and professional development converge. As an author, artist, and educator, he equips readers with tools for resilience, reflection, and renewal, whether through devotional insights, workshops, or transformative coaching frameworks. His work blends visual art, everyday humor, and spiritual depth to spark growth and foster wisdom. Each book is crafted to meet readers where they are—and help them rise.

Wendell C Douglas, PhD, MEd

Author, artist, and educational advisor, blending creative resilience with spiritual and educational leadership insight.

I'm Still in the Room

I’m older now, but aren't we all?

Maybe not the kind of older that drifts off mid‑sentence

or forgets why it walked into the kitchen.

I’m the kind that watches the world tilt a little

and thinks, "Well, that’s new."

And watches as it tilts right back.

I know the look people give old folks,

The one who has decided your hearing went to heaven before you did.

They lean in, raise their eyebrows,

and speak as if you're three states away.

You bite your tongue to keep from saying,

"I can hear you just fine,

I’m ignoring you today."

Clerks call me “little sweetheart,”

as if I’ve shrunk into something ornamental.

I smile the kind of smile

That lets them know I’ve lived long enough

to recognize condescension in all its ugly disguises.

In church, I sit through a sermon

that wanders like a lost dog,

And I thank myself quietly

for staying awake,

for catching every drifting word,

for keeping my mind sharp

even when the message isn’t.

My friends haven’t aged me out yet,

And I’m grateful.

We trade stories like baseball cards,

Compare new aches like weather reports,

and laugh at the way our bodies

have started filing complaints

without our permission.

But relevance. Yes, relevance.

That’s the real work.

Not clinging to what was,

But staying curious about what’s next.

Learning new jokes,

new music,

new ways the world insists on spinning.

I’m older, yes.

But I’m still here.

still listening,

still learning,

still refusing to be dismissed

as a relic or a thought or a prayer.

And if the day comes

When someone speaks to me

as if I’ve already slipped from view,

I’ll lean in, smile,

and say it plain and true,

“I’m not gone, moron. I’m still in the room.”

wcd

Stuff We Learn About Relationships...Usually Too Late

I’ve learned to listen for what brings us together.
Not just food and the laughter,
but the quiet stuff too.
Shared grudges, shared appetites, shared need.

When somebody gets comfortable naming “people I hate,” listen harder.
That dragon has a long tail, and sooner or later it will swing your way.

I’ve learned to spot favors,
masquerading as affection,
Like I owe you because you smiled,
And your “special place” in my life,
Becomes a tab you can’t afford.

I don’t sell my self-respect anymore.
I don’t bargain away my dignity to keep the peace in a room.
And I’m careful what I hand out as “personal information,”
because some people treat your story

like the tools of a useful fool.

So I watch people’s eyes when I’m speaking,
Not for flattery, for their presence.
There’s a difference between someone who looks at you
and someone who looks through you, waiting for their turn.

I don’t mistake gracious tolerance for friendship.
And I don’t mistake friendship for love just because it feels good to be seen.
I guard my heart the same way I guard my words.
Because once they’re out there, they’re out there,
And I’ve seen people use a soft sentence today as a weapon tomorrow.

I watch how friends handle my stress.
Are they seeking gentleness or seeking importance?
Do they steady the room, or do they make it all about them?

Arguments don’t scare me like they used to.
They teach you what’s real.
I’ve learned what will and won’t survive an argument,
who can circle back and talk plainly, and who turns every disagreement into a punishment.

I won’t trade my self-respect for anybody’s approval.
I won’t carry guilt that somebody packed for me.
I don’t apologize for what I did not do.
And I don’t do for another what I couldn’t accept in return.

I practice the word no.
I practice saying yes to what I need.
And I use “best friend” with restraint,
With sincerity, like a title you earn and plan to keep.

I remember scarcity increases value.
So I don’t stay too available,
not because I’m playing games, but because I’m protecting what’s mine to give.

I’ve learned what will sever a friendship.
And if I need to, I’ll use it.
Because the same thing that pulls you close can turn into a hook.
These days, it’s better to be alone than be handled.

wcd

Where I'm From

 

Where I'm from isn’t the kind of town you just drive through
It’s the kind you drive to,
If you know it’s there.

There’s no big welcome sign counting heads,
no little gas station bells,
No reason for a stranger to slow down.

Some maps quit saying our name
And sometimes the GPS will bring you close
Then lead you astray.

Still, our town is there
just quieter now.
What remains isn’t loud
But it lasts.

A few weathered buildings holding their ground,
old home places swallowed up in second growth,
a brick line here,
a porch step there,
and a windmill’s rusted bones...

Churches stay the steadiest.
Some are still gathering a faithful few
And the graveyards speak plain
names repeating like a hymn
family ties set down in stone.

You can find the old rail line
even if the trains don’t stop anymore;
The depot is gone
But listen long enough
And you can hear a whistle in the distance
boots on a wooden platform
Like the past still knows the way back.

The land endures;
pines rising where mills once stood,
deer crossing what used to be schoolyards,
The creek's still running,
Red clay's still staining shoes,
nature laying a quiet cover over what was built;

And the ones who stay
or the ones who go back
Do it for something stronger than convenience.
Memory, maybe
Legacy, maybe
Just knowing this place still matters.

And the ones who left
carry our town in their bones,
bring it out at reunions,
turning pages of faded photos,
telling their grandkids, that’s where I’m from
then coming home now and then
to lay flowers,
to visit the church where vows were said,
to sit where a porch used to be,
and listen to the wind in the trees.

Our town isn’t bustling
and it isn’t thriving the way cities measure it;
But it endures
in memory
in story
in spirit

And sometimes,
That’s good enough.