A Late Breakfast

Abate

Meliorate

Mitigate (I already knew that one)

Palliate

            The words I studied while watching “A White Christmas” today—the first movie I have watched in months. Which was incredibly long and boring and un-captivating but I told my friend, who loves it, that I liked it very much. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But I find myself doing that ALL THE TIME. Protecting people’s feelings (or what I suppose would hurt them).  Hmmm…I wonder why I feel conflict in myself or get insane nervousness about developing close relationships. (Duh). I have manipulated myself for so long. How can I have healthy connection/intimacy if I am not comfortable with me? That was learned—emotional self-mutilation/manipulation—I understand that. I have compassion on myself. My little girl self who didn’t know any better but just wanted to keep herself safe. I get it. I’m still unlearning though. And Healing. Obviously. That’s why I am writing. I wonder if I’ll get back to watching movies and doing normal stuff. Maybe. I know for now though that escaping of any kind isn’t healthy for me. So I write. And hope. I just smiled.  It reached my eyes. “Hope.” I love that word.

            Its’ eight o’clock right now. At night. Yep. Darkness has fallen. And yet here I am writing on my laptop. I told myself I would only keep to pen and paper after dark. Screens and writing on screens into the night make me feel crazy. So like any normal, crazy person not wanting to feel crazy, I have taken a fast from night computer writing. But now, I guess, it’s break fast time. Breakfast time. At night? Hmm. Where are the pancakes? Blast. I should probably learn how to make those. I should probably learn how to do a lot of things. I’ve been unlearning for so long. My learning time has come!—its dawn anyway. And it’s exciting! Really. It is. My favorite thing I am learning: words. I think to myself:  “If I have words maybe I won’t feel like I am choking all the time.” Or the invisible, weird, goblin thing that has its demonic little fingers around my throat will be burst into a gazillion pieces and I will be able to express what I think and feel and have no shame. There are still feelings of guilt and shame in me, just for being me. Which stinks. But it’s okay. Only when I am around other people (not all people) those feelings surface. When I am alone in my apartment I speak. And dance. And am safe. Often I close my eyes and pretend Jesus is my partner. Some may laugh at that. But I don’t care. For a long time He was the only One who listened. Who I actually talked to. So I love Him best. And I never feel bad being me around Him. And He’s the most beautiful of all! So I consider myself pretty lucky to spend so much time with Him. My emptiness, silence, and pain has brought me to Him.

            I recognize how empty I felt tonight. Wanting to find something exciting or secular to make me feel happy. Find some semblance of the Spirit of Christ—the source of all peace and happiness. Why? When I have access to the real thing? That I can literally switch my thoughts to Christ and all my sadness, angst, feelings that I need to explode and implode, or gasp for air because I’m suffocating and scream because the emotion and EVERYTHING trying to escape, all of that gets swallowed up in His love. I can turn my thoughts to Him, His words, His life…Him in the Garden of Gethsemane feeling what I’m feeling “NO NO, I’M SO SORRY TO MAKE YOU FEEL THIS WAY. It’s terrible that me, just one person has to feel this way, I don’t want Thee to feel it as well. But I do want Thee to suffer. Please suffer. So I don’t have to suffer alone. So I have hope. Please, I’m so sorry to make Thee die, but please die. So I have hope. So I don’t have to feel dead. Thank Thee. I love Thee. I love Thee...Stay with me. Please.” A prayer something like what I just typed. That was what I just said to Him. Then I feel better. Now I feel better. Lighter. 1,000 pounds lighter. Then I think of all the people with no hope. Who live swimming in numbing distraction so they don’t even feel that there is anything wrong. Or a need for a Savior or healing.

            Is something wrong with me? Am I the only one? Surely not. But I do feel awful alone in my faith sometimes. When I say to myself so fiercely so it carries to Heaven so I KNOW THAT HE KNOWS THAT I KNOW I trust Him, “I have faith that God can heal me emotionally. I have faith that God can heal me socially. I have faith that He can take away my panic and my fear.” Fear about one certain department I really struggle with that I will choose not to mention right now but BOY oh BOY (crap, the emphasis on BOY might have just given it away…) when I start writing about it….watch out. THERELL BE A LOT. Note: Therell is the conjunction between there and will. There is no apostrophe because it takes from the dramatic effect when the letters are all in caps.

            I feel peace now. And lookie! It only took 23 minutes! Wow! Ladies and gents look at the wonders of writing!! Less than a half hour ago I felt in a total funk, bursting and itching and sad and slipping under the ground I stood. And now, peace. Presense. Heart. Rachael. Refocused. Now I care. About myself. Life. The people around me. The Savior (gosh, I love Him). I care. Maybe I should break fast more. Breakfast more. Bacon.

Yum.

From Dead to Living? Write.

            

            So I have some issues. Big deal. As my freshman algebra teacher said, “You’ve got issues, we’ve got tissues.” I’m out of tissues though. Annoying. Sometimes I’ll blow snot in my hair though. Easy, accessible (though not name-brand) tissue. That’s only when I’m praying and talking to God. I don’t want to interrupt the conversation and grab Kleenex to wipe my nose. He wouldn’t mind, I’m sure, but I want to stay present and not lose that special connection once my heart opens and my words and emotions flow freely. Which is often. To be honest, God is the only one I feel I can open completely to. Which is good, but difficult. Good because the most wonderful, powerful, love-filled Being who knows and loves me perfectly is on my side, in my mind, and heart. Bad because then I feel I am only known to Him, by Him. And no one else. Maybe this is my own fault. Maybe I learned fear early on, to protect myself early on. From people. From men. From speaking. From showing anyone who I really am. From trusting. Yes, yes that is probably the case. But its time now to be okay being me. Its time to not be ashamed anymore. Or care what others think anymore. I’ve lived that way for too long. It’s bondage. Bondage. There is no other word.

            According to my experience, there are two types of hell living in this world. The first, and I’m not sure which category more people fall—the former or latter—not having any idea who I am. Seeing through my physical eyes, watching TV, absorbed on social media, music loud so I tune out the numbness inside me. Disconnected with others (though I may laugh loudly), disconnected with myself. To believe that this—what I see—is all there is. My body. My face. His body. His face. Her body. Her face. The screens. The noise. Cold concrete. Weights. Trophies that rust. Acceptance and praise from man (who will one day die). Garish headlights that block the stars. The next episode of the next show. The next outfit so I feel really sexy. The next meal. The next funny post. Mindless mundane, where’s-my-next-fix-to-feel-alive routine. To eat and never be full. To sleep and always tire. And to fully, fully accept that that is all there is. That is hell.

            The second hell. (Gosh, acknowledging and reliving this suffuses my body with ice) to live and see and breathe like the group above BUT KNOW and FEEL that who I am being is not who I am. To feel so intensely that I am more. And there is more. That there is power and beauty beyond description that dwells inside of me but I am trapped. Trapped. I don’t know how to access it…her…ME. That conflict, dissonance, of who I see and what I see is not who I know and feel lives inside of me. How do I get there? How does this box covered in locks which daily mocks the divinity that shines inside of me, be crushed? Broken down like the frail cardboard I collapse with my bare hands at work and bail like the garbage it is. How? How do I do it? There is life in me. But why do I feel dead? Sometimes I see her. There are moments that how could I NOT?? She is sooo splendid and glorious and radiant! I see her clearly when I am in the temple—the temples of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I see her clearly when I am helping someone. I see her when I am talking to my friends that I dearly love. I see her clearly when I give and when I hug. I see her when I don’t look in the mirror but in the sky. The beauty of nature. When I am brave. I see her. 

            This is why I am writing. That I may hear my own voice in my head. That I may read my own words. And know I am known by myself. Not just by God. To be so grounded in Jesus Christ—who already has saved me from the unspeakable—and to be so grounded in ME. So *I* know I have words to say. And ideas to share. Testimony to bear. Life that lives within me that gives life. Christ is the Life and Light of the world. If His light is inside of me then that is how, to whom I must turn, if I wish to be truly, wholly, alive. It is hard. The world is dark. But I am not afraid. I know what I must do. Write. Write.

Right.

Rachael, Speak

Rachael-in-a-box.

“Pop goes the weasel.”

Blaring, cranking, painted.

My face on an easel.

Strokes of 

“Nice, Mormon girl,

Docile, sheltered, naïve."

Labels well-intended

But they’re not me. 

Assumptions 

Not incorrect per say,

Yes, I am virginal

In a way

Never experienced

Sex, alcohol, coffee, or pot

But when it comes to spirit and emotion

--I’ve experienced a lot. 

But who would guess?

At some point I chose to believe

That love was conditional

So to protect myself,

I became one-dimensional

And I ask: when?

When was silence learned?

 Effetely agreeable, bovine.

This is not who I am—

A mirroring mime.

When was hiding learned?

That I can’t be fabulous ME? 

This is not who I am—

An ashamed apology. 

When was suppression learned?

That I’m “not allowed” emotional immensity?

This is not who I am—

Coy, callow coquetry

When was fear learned?

The desire to fit in?

This is not who I am—

A mimicking mannequin

And yet….

The blessed irony:

The more I fear…GOD

The more I feel free. 

Free from appetite of body

--Her selfish dominion

Free from fear of man

--Myopic opinion

Free from the demons 

Shrieking in my brain:

“You’re stupid, you’re worthless

YOU’RE COMPLETELY INSANE.”

And to those lies

I chose to listen.

So? Here’s to emancipation

By my own volition.

Emancipation? From what else? 

Okay. I’ll do my best to ascertain

My experience

With emotional pain:

Rivulets of hate 

Like poison replace

Blood in my body

Sweat on my face

Chaos clouds

Complexions etiolate

Veiled venoms 

Swirl, inspissate

And the anger and pain

Inhumed within

Rises

And excoriates my skin.

Then the noose falls.

Skeins of words I maunder

Powerless to speak my mind

Suffocating, I wander.

If someone were to ask me:

“You can have anything 

Anything of your choice.” 

Without hesitation:

“I JUST WANT MY VOICE.”

But year after year,

Safe with God

Words I find,

“Please, Lord,

Unlock my mind.” 

Do I really dare?

Ask to be free? 

What happened the last time

I felt really “me”? 

Now, I’m sharing this,

Probs to my chagrin…

I WAS CARRIED IN AN AMBULANCE 

AND LOCKED IN THE LOONY BIN

For two weeks!!

True story.

But that was like, five years ago.

Don’t worry. 

But how do I explain 

That my mind feels closed?

Slugs, webs, clouds,

In its holes. 

How do I explain 

That the body I was born into 

Came with scars?

Not a whole receptacle

But a shattered mason jar. 

How do I explain…

When I’m around a boy I like

I can’t breathe because of fear?

Seething, leeching words

Under my flesh have been seared:

“Not worth loving.”

The biggest lie of all

Cloned on every single cell 

My own cancerous wall.  

Then my world of color 

Is benighted black

Effusions of noise

Like I’m under attack

Voices so loud for so long

I thought they were true!

“NO GOOD MAN 

COULD EVER LOVE YOU.” 

Then, 

The impending doom:

My insides collapse

Into her cocoon.

For protection

Thought and emotion flee

Then all I am to offer…

Is a lifeless body.

But the Holy Ghost 

Has kept me safe

Knowing that I don’t want to sin

And stayed with me the years

I locked myself in.

From relationships of substance

All men in my midst

When I couldn’t explain

The terror that exists.

So for me

The season of love

Has been winter’s frore

Parapets of frozen pain

Crushing its allure. 

Most people who know this hell

Have experienced trauma of varying degree

But a miracle of Jesus Christ

Is He can heal our memory

And that’s why I share 

These sad, sad things

Because I want to talk 

About the HOPE Christ brings!  

When I was a young girl

Before the assiduous panic sowed

I had a dream,

Many years ago.

I’m with a boy!!!

And there is so much light

We walk and talk

And it feels so…right.

We’re not holding hands

We don’t even kiss.

But my heart is full of 

SOOO MUCH HAPPINESS.

For ten years

I have envisioned that scene

And recalled the joy I feel

When pleasures promised passion

“More real.”

It is my faith that through Jesus Christ

My dreams can come true! 

By obeying His laws

And cherishing virtue. 

I can become the breathtaking woman

That has been trapped inside

Fearless, powerful, EXPRESSIVE

With kindness in her stride.

 Courage 

Like Queen Esther!

In her husband’s den

“Kill the Jews!”

--“I’m one of them.” 

Like Joseph of Egypt!

Against a rapacious wife’s prod

“Our secret…”

--“And sin against God??”

Like the meek Moses!

Against the great Pharaoh

One voice:

“Let my people go.”

Like the young Joseph Smith

A boy of fourteen.

Against scholar, theologian

“Deny what you’ve seen!”

--“I can’t. I won’t

I have seen God the Father and Christ the Lord.

A marvelous work is to come to pass

The fullness restored.” 

That kind of courage 

Even if I stand alone.

To bear my testimony of Jesus Christ

And the truths that are now known.

Families can be together forever!

God has called prophets again!

Our birth was not our beginning

And our death will not be our end.

Tools of knowledge 

That we are all offspring of God 

Frees, guides

Through the world’s ubiquitous fog.

And to share my witness

That the years in my mind’s catacombs

Loving Father in Heaven 

Never left me alone.

“I want to show you,”

My thoughts, His voice would rent,

“The power 

Of my Son’s Atonement.”

There’s a cure for all the world’s ills.

Many: “I’ll find it I can!”

But it’s already found!

…In the blood of the Lamb.

I’m still learning.

And even though I’m weak. 

It’s time. I’m ready.

Speak, Rachael. Speak. 

CHRISTUS INVICTUS

In the racing, screaming
Silent cell
Weak, whimpering
In my body's hell

Eyes look upward
Sobs turn sweet
Warm arms embrace:
Father, daughter meet

Loved, unburdened
Floods of mercy flow
Peace, identity
All my life to owe

Though amazed,
Not ignorant of the cause
The "why" I kneel
In humble awes

A price was paid
For this communion sweet
A Life laid down
At justice's feet

An atonement made
For all mankind,
A way, The Way
To reunite with The Divine

An Endless Sacrifice
Why this must be
Required of the Innocent One?
I ask in humility

His sincere reply
In visions unfold:
Matchless love
Anguish untold

Just for me

That I may understand
That Jesus of Nazareth
Was more than
"Just a man"

Eyes opening
To His celestial rank
The horrors endured
With little thanks

The injustice, the pain
A projector in my mind
Seeing, feeling,
His unyielding love divine

Keep His commandments?
Is that all He asks?
Shouldn't there be more?
To repay such a task?

I'll do it all!
Words, songs, thoughts of praise
Revere, worship
All my days

I will thank

The God I know
In heartfelt extols
For the gift of His Son's
Unconquerable soul

----

The Wine Press of Grief
Forget? Never! I vow,
The Garden, His body bloodied
Reverently, I bow

In abject spirits
When I can't brook more
I think of The Kind One
Blood from every pore

When wronged by friend or foe
Anger seething my skin
I think of The Meek One
In hours most dim:

Nails pound through His bone
Still He chooses to live
Hung on a cross of hate
Speaks, "Father, forgive."

 For little brother, sister
Divine determination
Spat on, whipped, rejected
By man, His own creation

That Light descended
To the blackest pit of all
So the most base, vile being
Can reach upward if he calls

Because He understands

The grotesque of sin
The hysteria of shame
The dungeon of "alone"
The emaciated, maimed
The addict's tomb
The hold of secret chains
The abuser, the abused
The muted, the mundane
The exhaustion of the world
The bedlam of "insane"
The burning greed of body
The full spate of the brain

And mercifully, God,

--Inestimable memory
Superlative, intelligent
Forgets my wrongs
...When I repent

Truly

The Genesis of grace
The Exodus of gloom
Obviating danger
My own bright future blooms

So yes,

Alone--broken, dead,
Unequipped, I may be
A waltzing automaton
In trite mimicry

But under His tutelage
Conforming to The Son
I find happy, wacky, Rachael
My dark nights--all done

With The Family everlasting
Priesthood again on earth
Death and Hell mastered
The Finisher in berth

The orb of time shattered
The world laid out in scrolls
Christ conquered His fate
With blood, He bought our souls


CHRISTUS INVICTUS

Soul-Seeing: Two Years without Makeup

I remember the dream. I was staring at myself in the mirror of my college basement apartment. Like some dreams, the edges of the visual frame were blurry. Like I was watching a movie—both in the production and observing the production in one chimerical, nebulous moment. I watched myself prepare for the day. I applied makeup. First, foundation. A lot of it. Then blush. Then bronzer. Then eyeshadow, sparkles, liner, and so on and so forth until the canvas of my face was nothing short of resplendent. With empty eyes I stared. Confused.  “I thought I was more beautiful than this” was the impression that entered my mind.

I picked up a sponge and slowly began wiping the makeup off my face. Stroke by stroke the painted veneer was removed. It took a long time. A very long time. Hours…hours. My hands and arms moved slowly. Thoughtfully. With purpose. I felt so calm.

Then I awoke.

I walked to the same mirror from my dream. Then, in perfunctory fashion, I did in real life and real time what I had just seen: I primped for the day. Except unlike the dream I didn’t remove it afterwards. I looked fantastic. Truly. A bouffant of red, lavish hair, dramatic brown eyes, scarlet lips…but I felt so sad inside. I did not feel beautiful. I wanted to cry. But I didn’t. Mostly because I didn’t know how. I didn’t feel much emotion back then. I wanted to feel, really, but my feelings were distant, and ominous though it may sound, dead.  So I did the best I could, and carried on. I was nineteen.

When I was twenty-one I was to Mexico for vacation. It was Christmas time. The air was humid and thick. It was night and I knelt beside my bed on the cold, concrete ground. Gosh, I was so unhappy. And see, Mormons don’t drink, don’t do drugs, and don’t participate in promiscuity, so if I wished to live consistently with my faith—and oh, how badly I did! With my WHOLE HEART—I couldn’t escape like many other hurting souls might escape. So I prayed. I asked for clarity and what to do for healing. I poured out my heart. I told God how miserable and lost I felt and plead for guidance and the faith to press on. Dramatic? Yes. Ernest and true, though? Yes! As I sat in silence, letting myself feel still, an impression came to my mind.

It was this clear thought: “Face your fears.”

“No.

No.

No.

PLEASE. GOD. NO.”

I audibly whispered.

If the body could scream in silence, that is what mine was doing.

And my greatest fear? One, at the time, that induced chaos, dread, and painful anxiety at just the thought?

…was to not wear makeup.

…..to not wear makeup.

To not. Wear. Makeup. That’s it. That was it.

(Oooh scary makeup *in the voice of Emperor Kuzco*)

Obviously there was much more to that. Obviously there were underlying wounds of profound worthlessness. Inexorable hauntings of childhood pain. True belief I was unfit to be loved. Chasms of criticism, harbors of hate, and overall ardent determination to forever conceal twenty-one years of owies. What I convinced myself to be indelible emotional scars that must be tucked safe away.

And, for me, at that time, makeup was just that safe blanket over my hidden grief.

I didn’t really understand all that back then: the connection between my fear to be vulnerable (not wear make-up) and all my hurt feelings. I just knew I would rather be dead than let someone see me. And me, at the time, in my mind, was just pain.

The first day I ventured out on BYU campus makeup-less, I focused on my breathing. I looked at the ground. At my feet. It was winter semester. The mountains were covered in beautiful snow. But I kept my naked eyes down. I attended my classes. I talked with my acquaintances. Looking in their eyes was difficult. I felt prickles of panic clinging on my skin and creeping up my throat.  I prayed.

“God..please God…help me. I. feel. So. UGLY. Hold me. Please.” I felt a warm feeling in my heart.

I walked on. Bathrooms were my favorite places. I cried in their stalls. Still I prayed. All day. I had never prayed so hard and so much.

I had never needed to.

But boy, oh boy, I needed to now.

Spanish class was particularly difficult. I already loathed the exposure of my imperfection when I spoke my broken Spanish, but now, broken Spanish spoken with pale lips, dull eyes, and a broken heart was more than I could bear. And WORST OF ALL. WORST OF ALL. THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BOY IN ALL OF PROVO SAT BESIDE ME. Of course he did. Of course he looked like 1941 Jimmy Stewart with all the class, charm, and intelligence in the world. Of course he was goofy and funny and kind and spoke Spanish BEAUTIFULLY with his chestnut locks falling perfectly over his green eyes. Yep. Yep. Of course he was perfect. And of course he sat beside me. I remember smiling at him one day, and in my head telling him “I promise you, I’m beautiful. You might not be able to see it, but I’m beautiful.”

And slowly as the days and weeks crawled by I began to act as I thought a beautiful woman would act. Kindly. Bravely. Generously…I still felt all my owies but I began to feel a little light shine in.

I continued to pray.

When I looked at myself in the mirror one day and mean, nasty thoughts (complete lies) yelled at my reflection, I spoke out loud, “The way you are speaking to yourself, Rachael, is unacceptable. And it will not be tolerated.”

Lots of things began changing.

I moved across the country and joined a weightlifting team.

I began being more obedient in keeping God’s commandments.

I began trusting Him more.

I began repenting.

I began praying more sincerely and feeling more connected to Deity during those prayers.

I began having real friendships.

I began feeling sad and angry. Really angry. Like can’t breathe, can’t function, angry. I felt it all. Forgave. And it passed. With the Savior’s help.

I began feeling hope.

I began to begin to understand the healing power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.

I began feeling…love, again.

Truer than I ever had. Holy even.

I saw a woman standing waiting for the bus carrying groceries one day. Her hair was greasy. Her face had acne scars. Her eyes and cheeks drooped. I felt a wave of love for this stranger sweep through me. I began to cry. I arrived home and sat in my car, overcome. And this thought entered my mind, “This. This must be how God feels for His children.” I cried some more. They were good tears. Tears of compassion. That was new for me.

At the checkout aisle in the discount grocery store the obese man who scanned my groceries had a faded tattoo hiding in the fat folds of his chapped wrist. Barely discernible it read:

“HOPE.”

I felt my heart ache and love from a Pure Source entered. I tried to communicate without words that he was loved. When I our eyes met and I spoke, “Thank you,” I spoke with all the kindness I could. And again I thought “This. This must be how God feels for His children.”  

There was a woman at Wal-mart. She was skin and bones with glaring pink hair and the croaking voice of a heavy smoker. Life had beat her up. Badly. It was apparent for all to see. As I walked past, we smiled at each other. My heart broke. I felt love for this woman that did not come from me. Her smile revealed her crooked teeth.

Slowly, as I emotionally allowed the Lord to enter my heart, His love began to displace yucky feelings that once consumed me.  And little by little the belief in “ugly” in myself and in others began to fade. Acrimonious mental and emotional turmoil crumbled away. Determination replaced apathy. Friendships bloomed on once fear-filled soil.  I rediscovered lipstick. And mascara. And sparkles!! And I love it!  But it feels different now. I feel different. I feel enough. No matter what. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone or show anyone who I am. Or hide anything. God sees me and knows my heart.

And that is enough.

I guess all of this jibber jabber and thought-sharing points to one main idea:

We never know the layers that exist inside of someone. The potential he or she has. Or the pain he or she has experienced. But God does. He is our Father. He created us. He loves us. With an everlasting love.  As I have accepted this truth into my heart I have learned that He sees differently than we do and wants to teach us how He sees: clearly. Without constraints of time, appearance of body, man-made prestige, worldly abuse, or emotional pain—so acrid and confusing at times. He sees us as we were as children: innocent. And as we can become when we repent and give our heart to His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ: free.

I am still learning. But this I do know: I want to be free. Free from this world and live in a better world that I know exists because I have felt it in my heart. I have seen it in my dreams and in the eyes of children. And I want it. I want to be a woman and a child—all at the same time. I want grace and wisdom and wonder. I believe that Jesus Christ is the answer. It is His mercy that is the mighty healer. I know He is the way, and the only way, to fill the soul’s deepest hunger. Let us seek Him.

.

If God had Children

If God had children

How many would there be?

Just a few—

Two or three?

Or after

The grandeur of His majesty

An infinitude

Like the sands of the sea?

If God had children

How would they be?

Brilliant and fair

With grace and creativity?

Bright and curious

Filled with mirth and delight

Fearless, determined

With all their little might

Some pensive, profound

Gallant or genteel

Others mild, benign

With great capacity to feel

Boundless joys

In love’s rich quay

Happiness to burst!

Or weeping Niobes

Each child

Possessing a seed,

A soul spark,

Of true magnanimity

Spawned from glory

Envisage the sight!

Children of One

Omniscient, Holy, and Light

If God had children

How would they learn?

How would He teach them

Show parental concern?

Lessons of courage,

Compassion, integrity

Sacrifice, strength… 

Does such come free? 

Would they know,

When they’re away,

Their Father rapt

In each protégé?

Ceaseless care,

Love amaranthine

Watching over

His precious kin

Would there be a moment,

Swift, as a breath,

A mortal life

Of testing, of death?

Far from a home

Hallowed and dear,

Chapters begin in a

Terrestrial sphere

A curtain of forgetting

Slumber, if you may,

Entering a world unknown

Stranger every day

Rudiments of wonder

Still apparent for eyes that see

Golden threads of spirit

Shimmering with possibility

Beauteous surroundings

The warmth of family

An endless dawn

This new journey can be!

…Amidst overwhelming chaos

That blankets society?

Disaster, noise!

How does one fit?

In this world of

Hearts disconsolate?

Racing, rushing!

Who to believe?

When days—years—

Feel dry and paltry 

With the winds of life

Harsh and cruel

We, heirs of Divinity?

Notions of a fool!

So resplendent spirits

In shells uncouth

Demand “where is God?

Give me proof!”

Oh my friends…

If only I could

Help you remember

Help you feel,

By sharing my own experience,

His love so real:

The Peaceful One

Calming mind’s morass

Tempestuous waves

To seas of glass.

Potholes of sadness

Like acne on my heart

To wells of compassion

A merciful new start

Lingering memories,

Albeit, still exist

Reminding of His grace

While I waded through the mist

When I cursed the sun

For shining in its place

While I sunk, water rising,

Immured in a broken vase.

When my soul’s vast cathedral

Capacious, made of stone,

Was filled not with beauty,

Just me, all alone.

Memories of thoughts,

The constant despair

Baffle me, humble me,

That I was once there.

So when I speak

Of celestial design

A great, Eternal plan

A Savior to come

Atone for man

A Friend, a Healer,

The very Son of God,

Know it comes not from vain belief,

Naïveté, or fraud.

It’s because of my travels,

Though young in years,

Through tundra and temple—

Eternity’s mirrors—

That I say what I say

And do what I do

Thus I declare:

A Heavenly Heritage, destiny—

It’s true!

GOD DOES HAVE CHILDREN.

It’s me. It’s you!

Certainly: A Poem

I remember that night
Air cold as can be
The stars bright
Beckoning and free

Someone seeing the light that flickered in me
"I am here" was whispered gently.

"No!" My fist shook toward Heaven
How can it be?!
Thou saidest that Thou lovest me?
This sepulchral pit that is my heart
Cannot see nor feel Thy love impart.

"Rachael, trust Me"
The voice implored

I wept, I quivered,
I ignored.

This life of pain that is my lot
Caged mind with impetuous thought

Anger and hurt far too deep
A silent tongue to never speak

My living soul that yearns to breath
But entombed I remain
In shrieking cacophony

No.
No.
Surely there cannot be,
A God in Heaven who lovest me.

A voice again,
This one my own,
Reason? Conscious?
Perhaps faith alone.

"How will you know what is in store

If you don't, at least, 

Test out His word?" 

My heart ached

Knowing its truth 

Remain in darkness--

Coldly aloof 

Or 

Walk a road only One has been 

With just the hope 

His hand He'll lend 

I wept, I quivered, 

I implored 

"Lead me then!" 

He did not ignore. 

Hope filled my being

So much I could burst 

Tears in my eyes 

Replete was my thirst!

I smiled. My heart did as well 

In awe I grasped,

"This is how it feels, 

To not be in hell." 

Since that night

Years have gone by 

Light and love poured down  

I cannot deny

My own road to Damascus 

Thus will I try 

Day by day 

To offer all

A small sacrifice 

For relieving my gall 

In humble prayer,

Willingly now I kneel

Remembering the times 

My heart did not feel

Grateful, 

I approach Heaven's door 

Pouring out my soul 

Somehow sure 

If my eyes opened 

I would see 

Pierced hands and wrists 

Rest on me

  

But I keep my eyes shut

A child waits patiently 

For her reunion 

How will it will be?  

In the arms of Jesus,
certainly: 

"Thank You, for always,
always loving me."