From "Thoughts and Testimonies, Booklet 1" (Part 6)

Here is the last excerpt from the booklet I wrote in 2010. Lord willing, next week I will share the very personal account I mentioned several weeks ago...or at least part of it. Of course, this has ALL been personal. But the other account deals with cruelty of a different type. God bless.

***

But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.               

Matthew 5:44-45 (Words of Christ)

     When I was nine years old, my family moved to California after my dad, serving in the military at the time, was transferred to the Los Angeles area. Shortly after we settled into our new home in an almost all-white neighborhood in Garden Grove, someone (or some people) burned a cross in the front yard. We actually slept through the cross burning, but it was to be the most hate-filled act in our four and a half or so years in Orange County. However, it wasn't the sole incident. My brothers and I endured stares, slurs and taunts. One boy with white supremacist tendencies spat on me at a dance when I was looking in another direction. (I ended up blaming a friend of his who was standing nearby, the perpetrator having left the vicinity by the time my arm brushed against the spittle on my blouse. One of my brothers was also at the dance and made the falsely accused boy apologize.) Other incidents took place, but the stares, slurs, taunts and spitting were the nicest of them. 

     For me, one family has always summed up the hatred I experienced in Garden Grove. Specifically, two brothers in that family went out of their way to try to make me feel miserable. From what I remember, there were more than two boys in the family and the clan included at least one girl who, apparently, was the opposite of the two brothers who hated me. One of my brothers knew her and never had a bad thing to say about her. I once had a front row seat when she smacked one of her two hateful brothers on the back of his head when he called me the "n" word while pedaling his bike past me with her as a passenger. (After she smacked him, she told him that she didn't want to hear him ever use that word again. When he protested that their dad used the same word, she basically told him that she didn't care and repeated the statement about him not using it himself. I think she may have also told him that it's an ugly word, but their conversation became less clear to me as they rode farther away.) One of the two brothers who hated me was in the same grade as me. His taunts were usually in the form of glares and sneers. He only seemed to work up the courage to call me slurs when the younger of the two-who was a year or two behind us in school-initiated the name-calling. 

     Over the years, the cross burning has crossed my mind every now and then. I didn't realize its full impact until 2006 or 2007 when, for the first time, I dreamed about it not long before my fortieth birthday. The fact that I first dreamed about it so long after it happened troubled me, especially since the dream occurred close to a milestone birthday. I had dreamed about other traumatic events in the past. It was as if my mind wouldn't deal with the terror of the cross burning until I was staring middle age in the face. 

     In the weeks and months after I had the cross burning dream, the two brothers who hated me came back to mind. I'd thought about them and their cruelty in earlier parts of my life, but I hadn't given them much thought in some time. When I'd think about them after the dream, I'd get really angry. Some of the anger was along the lines of "How dare those pieces of dirt think they were better than me!" (Hello, self-exaltation!) I found myself hoping that they were slaving away in a place like a mechanic's garage or some other workplace that involved grime. I also hoped that they were earning low wages. I only had ill feelings towards them. 

    Then, something wonderful happened. One of the times that my I-hope-you-are-laboring-and-Iiving-in-misery-you-spiteful-grease-monkeys desire came to mind, an altogether different thought followed it after I did a bit of crying. It was the hope that the two brothers' lives were going well. I wanted them to be happy so that they wouldn't feel a need to try to make anyone else's life miserable. I don't remember if I immediately expressed that hope as a prayer. I think I did, but I'm not sure. I am sure of one thing: the Lord was working on me. Only He could have softened my heart to want happiness for them. 

     If the two brothers are still alive, I hope and pray that they get saved if they are still lost. I don't want them to experience the hell that we all deserve. And I want them to have true joy while they live in this world.

From "Thoughts and Testimonies, Booklet 1" (Part 5)

The text below is the next-to-last excerpt from the booklet I wrote in 2010. God bless.

***

AND God spake all these words, saying, I am the LORD thy God, which have brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage, Thou shalt have no other gods before me. 

Exodus 20: 1-3 

     In the early days following my salvation, I spent much of my spare time in Christian bookstores. The one that I frequented the most carried a fairly large selection of t-shirts. Most of the t-shirts had Scripture screen printed in prominent spots. I think that I might have seen the U.S. flag screen printed on a couple of them, but the majority focused on God and His word.

     Shortly after my discharge from the hospital in May 2010, I decided to buy a large print Bible so that I could study Scripture again. My dad drove my mom and me to a Christian bookstore that had a copy of one I'd seen at its online store. I paid for the Bible and while I waited for my dad to finish his purchase, I checked out some t-shirts near the front of the store. Almost all of them had the American flag or the colors of the American flag screen printed on them along with Biblical references. Perhaps, the store was trying to sell t-shirts for Memorial Day. A quick glance around the store through eyes that have some vision loss seemed to indicate that patriotic t- shirts were the only ones in stock at the time. I could have been wrong, though.

     The mixing of patriotism with faith is something that I noticed while I was in the wilderness, but it seems to be more prevalent now. While watching a Christian network on cable recently, I saw a program that had footage of a waving flag superimposed over footage of a cross. I also saw a worship service on the same network that featured children dressed in the colors of the U.S. flag standing in even rows. They were, essentially, a living flag.

     Although I believe that you should be grateful to the Lord for your temporary home, much of the flag/cross mix reminds me of the "Country first" approach to patriotism. If country is first, then country becomes worthy of worship and the flag becomes an idol. Such an approach makes the state a god and love of country (instead of love for its people) turns into cult-like exaltation of nation. God will not compete with anyone or anything. No one is His peer. No country is His equal. Stars and stripes will never save a soul, but "with his stripes we are healed." (Isaiah 53:5)

From "Thoughts and Testimonies, Booklet 1" (Part 4)

Here is the next section of a booklet I wrote in 2010. God bless.

***

THE earth is the LORD'S, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein. 

Psalm 24:1

     Lately, I've been thinking about ownership. For instance, my dog-MY dog-has melanoma. In the weeks preceding his tumor removal surgery, I fed my dog flax oil, ground flax seeds, organic cottage cheese and organic yogurt. I hoped the diet would help shrink the tumors and/or give him energy to survive the surgery. He is, after all, thirteen human years old. One of his veterinarians told my brother and me that the average life span for a dog his size is twelve human years old. He beat the average, but he's not getting any younger. Also, the vet who did the surgery didn't remove all the tumors, only the ones that caused the most concern. And I've spotted more tumors on my dog since the surgery. I'm reluctant about resuming the flax/cottage cheese/yogurt diet for my dog, though, because it might cause other health problems. 

     As I've thought more and more about ownership, it's occurred to me that I didn't make my dog. I may give him food and water (that I also didn't make), but I haven't been the sustainer of his life. I didn't give him life. 

     Taking things in another direction, I've also been thinking about people I've seen on cable news reports screaming or holding up signs saying, "We're taking back our country!" I've wondered if the U.S. really is our country. God blesses many people to be residents and caretakers of this nation just as He blesses people to be residents and caretakers of other nations and just as He blessed people when our one country was actually many nations, None of us made a single blade of grass, a single grain of sand, a single rock or a single water drop. Who owns this country or any other? "THE earth is the LORD'S .... " 

     I believe I'd mistaken stewardship for ownership for many years. I now know that my dog is not "my" dog. The Lord Who made him owns him. My country is not "my" country. The Lord Who made it owns it. My parents are not “my" parents and I am not even “mine”. The Lord Who made us owns us. “THE earth is the LORD’S, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.” Amen.

From "Thoughts and Testimonies, Booklet 1" (Part 3)

Here is the next part of a booklet that I wrote in 2010. God bless.

***

IN the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.

John 1:1-3

I think I had my first hair relaxer when I was in the sixth grade. I wanted to have hair that resembled the hair of the other girls in school. Plus, I thought that my hair would be easier to take care of if it was straight. My mom had been my hairdresser until then. It almost always hurt when she had to comb through a tangle in my natural hair. She tried to straighten my hair with a hot comb once or twice, a stench-filled endeavor of heated metal, oil and burnt hair.  

The beautician I went to for the first "professional" hair straightening apparently left the relaxer in too long. Some of my hair ended up breaking off, but that didn't stop me from repeating the process until I was in my late 20's. The constant cycle of relaxer, hair oiling, hair rolling, blowout comb, curling iron, semi-regular hot oil treatments and touch ups were a ritual of sorts.

     If I remember correctly, I had my last hair relaxer in 1995 prior to moving back to Texas. I returned to Texas that July for an extended visit with one of my brothers and his family. The visit turned into a relocation. My funds were very limited at the time, especially after I moved into my own place. I let my hair go. As it returned to its natural texture, I used different gels that were supposed to enhance its curliness. I rarely achieved the look that I wanted. My hair is naturally thick and looks like it grows out instead of down, hardly the American ideal of long locks that cascade past a woman's shoulders. At one point in the 1990's, I had enough spending money to pay someone to put synthetic braids in my hair. They were fake, but they were long.

     Quite a few people have stared at me critically or made negative comments since I let my hair go natural. The funny thing is most of the critics, which includes a couple of my family members, have been black. It's as if they've been disappointed with a trait that reflects the African part of my ancestry. One of the family members, who is now deceased, even told me (jokingly, I hope) to wear a wig the next time I visited him. I laughed at his comment. I never had the opportunity to visit him again.

Quite a few people have also given me compliments regarding my natural hair. Some of them have been other black women who wanted to know if I do hair or how I take care of my hair.

   I've had a lot of time since 1995 to think about my hair's natural state. Although lack of funds was the initial reason for going natural, I never put aside money later on to get my hair relaxed again. I started asking myself why I should subject my hair to harsh chemicals to fit a certain standard of beauty. I also started asking myself why that standard of beauty should be my standard of beauty. Then, I started questioning standards of beauty. I realized that the hair texture I have is the hair texture that God gave me. I woke up to the fact that criticism of a feature is criticism of its Maker. If my natural hair is good enough for God-Who made it-then who am I to complain about it or to try to change it?

   I've given up on buying loads of hair care products. Currently, I use shampoo and conditioner or sometimes just shampoo or a shampoo/conditioner combo. When I use a separate conditioner, I usually comb my hair while the conditioner is still in so that I can get the tangles out fairly easily. Other than that, I basically have wash and go hair that I wear as is or in twists that hold well for a few days-no more harsh relaxers, hair oil, hair rollers or blow dryer followed by curling iron; no more hot oil treatments or hot combs; no more inconvenient convenience to please anyone other than God.

From "Thoughts and Testimonies, Booklet 1" (Part 2)

Here is the next section of the booklet I wrote while recuperating at home in 2010. God bless.

***

God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth. 

John 4:24 (Words of Christ)   

I don't know what Jesus looks like, neither does anyone else who's alive today. The best any of us can do, if we so choose, is guess. So, I'm sure the fellow voter (who happened to be white) didn't mean anything when, after going on and on about a black coach (teacher? principal?), she told my parents and me that, years ago, said school administrator had her kids thinking God is black. I held my tongue but wanted to ask her something like, "Who said He isn't?" I was kind of amused that she assumed my parents and I accepted the popular western idea of a non-black God. 

       I've since wondered how the fellow voter would have reacted if I'd gone ahead and asked the question. Would she have been offended as was one of my former schoolmate's classmates when my schoolmate told him that he believed Jesus is black? Or, would she have been open to the idea of a black God? Although she didn't come right out and say that she believes God is white as opposed to any other color, I'm assuming that she's in agreement with the common American depiction of a Jesus Who looks like His line is primarily European. Why is the idea of a white God acceptable and the idea of a non-white God unacceptable? And why are we inundated with images that influence the way we picture God in the first place? As Jesus Himself said in John 20:29, "Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." Why do we need pictures and movies, videos and plays that feature portrayals of Jesus when faith is "the evidence of things not seen"? (Hebrews 11: 1) 

European Renaissance paintings help explain American images of a white Lord. The primary heritage of many Americans is European. The recent portrayals of Jesus, derived from old artworks, are of a good-looking man with Whom a large segment of the population can identify. 

I went through a Jesus-is-undoubtedly-black phase myself. And I have known other people (who also faced prejudice) whose disdain for the Gospel seemed to rest partly in having "white" images of God shoved down their throats. I reasoned (and believe they agreed) that Jesus, Mary and Joseph, once they fled to Egypt, could not have blended in well with the population of the area if they were white. 

I have also known other people (who also faced prejudice) who balked at the idea of a black Christ. I vividly recall one instance that took place when my parents were living in my mom's hometown. As I recall, my mom had a Nativity scene on display in the family room, one in which all the people depicted were black. The wife of one of my somewhat distant cousins said to me (after everyone else had left the room) something like, "I don't agree with that!" I defended the display by sharing my belief about Jesus being black, but I also wondered why she waited for everyone else to leave the room before voicing her opinion. I also felt sorry for her, believing that she had bought into her own brainwashing.

     Jesus may very well look mostly or partly African, but my attitude at the time was, "He's black! So, there!" I was still lost in those days. My attitude has changed. If Jesus looks Irish, He's my Lord and Savior. If He looks Chinese, He's my Lord and Savior. If He looks Nigerian, He's my Lord and Savior. If He looks Cherokee, Mexican, Samoan or Pakistani, He's my Lord and Savior. No matter what He looks like, He's my Lord and Savior. 

What I'm trying to say is that we risk making Jesus' physical appearance seem as if it's a part of the Gospel when we create images of Him. If He was to appear in front of any of us and we could see His skin color, hair texture, eye color and other features, what then? There's no saving grace in His-or our- physical appearance. Isaiah 53:2 states, "[h]e hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him." 

People who die lost will be held accountable for their sin, but we believers should never let our fantasies be other people's stumbling blocks. Wanting the Lord to look a certain way doesn't mean that's how He looks. And portraying Jesus as a particular color sends a misguided message. It's as if one group of people is saying, "He's our Lord, but don't worry. He'll lower His standards to save you, too!" Our visual aids can become spiritual distractions. God, the Creator of all Who is no respecter of persons, becomes a foreign god who favors people who look like his son over people whom he (unfortunately for them) made with dissimilar features. And that message may drive people away from the only One Who can save them.

From "Thoughts and Testimonies, Booklet 1" (Part 1)

My posts over the next several weeks will be excerpts from an autobiographical booklet that I wrote in 2010 while recovering at home following hospitalization for bilateral pulmonary emboli and a couple of surgical procedures. Today's part is the introduction and the first part of the body of the booklet. Even though I primarily wrote it with fellow Christians in mind, I hope that anyone who reads a selection will get some good out of it. God bless.

Thoughts and Testimonies 

Booklet 1

Introduction

       

     The Lord saved me in 1992. Around 1994, I wound up having a wilderness experience that lasted about sixteen years. It involved physical and so-called mental illnesses as well as backsliding. I thought that God and fellow Christians had abandoned me.                                                                                                           On May 2, 2010, I was rushed to the hospital after having difficulty breathing. The Lord made his presence known during my hospitalization and brought me out of the wilderness. He reminded me of other times in which He'd made His presence known and helped me realize that He would never abandon me.             I wrote the thoughts and testimonies in this booklet after my hospitalization. As I recuperate, I've had a lot of time to reflect on past experiences and observations. Many of those experiences and observations involved  prejudice or discrimination.

     Even though past experiences often left me feeling angry, sad or fearful, I believe that God allowed me to go through them for a reason. However, I'm not about to claim a new revelation. According to Ecclesiastes 1:9, "The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun." Other people in the past and in the present have also experienced prejudice or discrimination. I believe that the Lord has helped me understand my experiences in light of Scripture. Hopefully, the things I've written in this booklet will encourage or comfort someone who's had the same or similar experiences.

     As you read these "thoughts and testimonies," please open a Bible and read the referenced verses in context. Trust the Lord and His guidance. May God bless you.

*****

Then Peter opened his mouth, and said, Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: But in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him.

Acts 10:34-35

A friend of mine and I recently had a discussion about "white" churches compared to "black" churches. Afterwards, I thought about how strange it is to discuss white versus black or white versus black versus brown churches in 2010. The American history of segregation persists in far too many - but, thankfully, not all - houses of worship. It's as if we fail to see that Jesus is not a patchwork Lord, His body consisting of black arms, white legs and a brown torso.

     If you believe the Holy Bible, then you believe that Adam and Eve are the roots of every family tree. Since we all descend from them, deliberate divisions based on skin color make no sense. This is especially true where churches are concerned. Once upon a time, some people believed that God's confounding of languages at Babel was also a confounding of colors. Therefore, they believed that we were meant to be separated along color lines. The basis of this belief seemed to be grounded in the idea that when we get together, we disobey God.

I believe that unity doesn't necessarily lead to disobedience. Our ancestors, in their unrighteousness, tried to build a tower to reach heaven. Those of us who are saved, having the righteousness of Christ and submitting to God's will, would not have a similar goal. Lost people, united, exalt themselves and act like gods. Christians, united, exalt God and serve Him. But here many of us are in the United States today speaking the same language but all too often not even attending worship services together, rendering them color-based or color-conscious. You wonder how anyone who claims to be saved could ever justify segregated fellowship when you consider verses such as Acts 10:34-35 or Galatians 3:28 ("There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus."). May we leave that part of history in the past and truly be one in Christ.

                                         

Another Poem from the Past

I am posting a week later than I had hoped. And this poetic piece is not what I wanted to share last week. That article will have to wait for now. I will upload it soon, Lord willing. Until then, here is a little more poetry. God bless.

The voices trapped inside my head
would deeply fill my soul with dread
were not my Savior to be found,
His angel camping all around

So, with my Lord dispelling fear
to Him alone will I draw near
As sleep approaches in the night
He sets the evil one to flight

Secular Haiku, Part 2

Here is the second part of the secular Haiku I wrote that were first published through a now-closed writers' network. "Freshly Raked" and "The Childhood Comforter" were originally published in December 2011. "September" was originally published in February 2014. I wrote it about two and a half years after my dog Mulder died. It's the second Haiku I wrote about him.

In the future I may post other pieces that I wrote as a member of the former network. But next week I hope to post something that has not been published before. God bless.


Freshly Raked
Grinning ear to ear,
a little girl falls backwards,
scattering brown leaves.

The Childhood Comforter
As a blizzard roars,
the quilt my grandma made me
warms from head to toe.




September
Tropical Storm Lee
brushed our city with its winds,
left here with your soul.

Secular Haiku, Part 1

I wrote the following Haiku through the writers' network that recently closed. The first two were originally published in November 2011. The last one was originally published in December 2011. All three follow the 5-7-5 syllable pattern.

I wrote "Lone Star November" after a steep temperature drop. "Chew Toy Joy" is about Mulder, my late German Shepherd mix. And "Open Air, Springtime" was inspired by a scene in a Kurosawa film.

I hope to publish another set of poems next Tuesday. God bless. Have a beautiful week.
                                   

Lone Star November
The drought continues.
Are the pipes insulated?
A cold front arrived.

Chew Toy Joy
Elderly canine,
energetic as a pup
in his last summer.




Open Air, Springtime
In the glass tea cup
cherry blossom reflections
dance on the water.

"Repast," the flash fiction article in this post, was originally published on January 6, 2012 on the now-defunct writing network to which I once belonged. If you're in the San Antonio, TX area on September 13, 2014, please be sure to check out the next Hosanna Praise Poetry Reading at the Igo Branch Library. Bring some of your own poems, flash fiction, or testimonies to share with the audience. Or just come to listen to other people share their poems, testimonies, and other pieces. You can find the details at https://www.facebook.com/HosannaPraisePoetryReading?ref=stream. God bless.

Repast

Kirsta held her late great-aunt Joyce's old bible as she sat on the couch that her husband, Tyler, bought a year earlier. "Aunt Joyce" used to read passages from her bible to Kirsta and her siblings when they were younger. She had given Kirsta the bible after her profession of faith in Jesus Christ at age seventeen. Kirsta's brother Jonathan, an agnostic, and sister Kaylee, who--as she put it--believed in God but didn't believe in God, each wanted the bible. Aunt Joyce had documented the family tree in the bible, making it a family heirloom.

Kirsta brought the bible to Tyler's funeral that morning. Less than an hour after burying him, Kirsta was back at their home, being greeted by friends, family, and people she barely knew who had come to pay their respects. She took her copy of the funeral program off the coffee table and placed it inside the front cover of the bible.

"Put some mac and cheese on Kirsta's plate when it's done. And, don't forget the collards. She needs to keep up her energy." Kirsta was sitting close enough to the kitchen to hear everything that the ladies from her parents' church were saying. "Poor baby," said another, "To lose her husband so young...." A third piped in, "Shh! She's sitting right there!"

Jonathan stood against a wall on the other side of the room beside Kaylee. He and Kirsta didn't have long conversations once she got saved. After she married Tyler, contact with her brother was virtually non-existent. Phone calls often ended with him hanging up after accusing them of "bible thumping". He seldom acknowledged the letters and cards they sent him. Kaylee, on the other hand, brushed off Kirsta and Tyler's witnessing, preferring to tease them instead of avoiding them.

Kirsta glanced around the room packed with friends, family, and people she barely knew. Things had been different each time that Tyler was released from the hospital. As the disease progressed, fewer people dropped by to visit. A core group of friends from church and Bible Study along with her parents and Kaylee were the faithful visitors. Even a few of the church group stopped coming around near the end. Kirsta couldn't tell if they were busy or uncomfortable. She'd felt speechless a couple of times herself, wanting to say the perfect thing to Tyler. At those times, she would pick up Aunt Joyce's bible and read him some of the highlighted passages that Aunt Joyce had read to her siblings and her when they were children.

Pastor David sat down across from Kirsta. He was the one who led Tyler to Christ shortly before Tyler and Kirsta met in college. He was the one who gave Tyler's eulogy. And, when Tyler was alive, after his illness had moved from stage 4 to stage 5, Pastor David was the one who intervened when a couple of Tyler's friends--members of different denominations--had a disagreement in the hospital cafeteria about the meaning of the Scripture, "with his stripes we are healed." One friend insisted that the words referred to physical healing while the other insisted that they referred to salvation. When the first friend asked Pastor David what he thought the interpretation was, the pastor replied, "I've seen believers healed, and I've seen believers die." He somehow managed to intensify the doctrinal dispute between the two over God's will regarding illness.
That dispute took place a month and a half before Tyler died, one week prior to the last time that Pastor David visited Tyler and Kirsta at home. As he sat in the same chair he'd sat in during that last visit, friends and people he barely knew murmuring around him, Pastor David leaned forward to speak to Kirsta. One of the ladies from her parents' church burst out of the kitchen and handed Kirsta her plate, interrupting him. "Here you go, Sweetie," she said. Before Kirsta finished saying, "Thank you," the lady from her parents' church addressed the other people around her with "Can I get anybody else anything? Reverend, can I get you anything?" Pastor David told her, "No, thank you." He waited a minute and then, after catching Kirsta's attention, asked her, "You doing okay?" He didn't expect an answer greater than, "I'm hanging in there." So, he was surprised when she told him, "I'm doing fine." Pastor David said, "Praise the Lord." He sat back in his chair and repeated, "Praise the Lord." He was puzzled, though, wondering how she could be fine given the circumstances.

Several of the friends, family, and people that she barely knew walked up to Kirsta to say "goodbye" after finishing off some food and gathering their things. A few of them leaned down to hug her and promised to keep her in their prayers. Closer friends and acquaintances quoted Scripture before making their promises. Kirsta thanked them. She knew that they wanted to comfort her. And, Kirsta was grateful for their encouragement. Still, she figured that she had her time to grieve while Tyler was alive.

Kaylee and Jonathan, seeing open spots on either side of their sister, joined her on the couch. While Kaylee put an arm around Kirsta's shoulder, Jonathan gently took their Aunt Joyce's bible from Kirsta and flipped to a well-highlighted page. He read the highlighted verses to himself and, as he closed the bible, Tyler's funeral program slipped out and fell to the floor. Kirsta picked it up and read the birth and death dates on the front page. The dates testified to the fact that her husband was twenty-eight years old when he died. Kirsta began crying. The crying deepened into sobbing and the sobbing into weeping. As Kaylee drew Kirsta closer, Jonathan put his arms around both of them. Tears flowed from all three. They wept without speaking. They mourned as family.

The following article was originally published on March 28, 2012. I wrote it for an Easter assignment. Also, if you live in the San Antonio/Austin, TX area, the next Hosanna Praise Poetry Reading will be held on September 13, 2014 from 11:30 am to 1:30 pm at the Igo Branch Library in San Antonio. Leave a comment or PM me for more details. God bless.

Easter Renewal

When I think about Jesus Christ's resurrection, I find inspiration throughout the Bible, from Old Testament prophets such as Isaiah who foretold of the Messiah Who would sacrifice Himself so that we could be forgiven our sins and reconciled to God, to New Testament writers such as the apostle Paul who took the gospel, the good news of Jesus Christ, to the Gentiles. I would like to share a few verses that have inspired me and talk a little bit about how God has used them to revive me.
(Note: Most of the verses referenced are from the King James Version of the Holy Bible.)

• These things I have spoken to you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world. (John 16:33)

• ...lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. (Matthew 28:20)

The testimony that I want to share right now is not really about my salvation experience. It's about a wilderness experience that I underwent for sixteen years or so, a kind of wandering that had me thinking that God had cast me off forever. It stemmed from a chronic brain disease. In other words, I have a psychiatric disorder or mental illness. When the severest symptoms first appeared, I was deeply involved in church activities. I attended worship services regularly. I taught a Sunday school class. I spent part of one summer as a camp counselor for middle school girls from church. I considered learning how to play the flute again so that I could join the church orchestra. Poetry that I wrote focused on the Lord instead of secular themes that I had explored since childhood. So, I did not understand what was going on when I started hearing voices and seeing what I can best describe as shadowy but solid human-like figures. The activity increased rapidly. When it became non-stop, I prayed constantly, even in public. I had trouble falling asleep. And, when I was able to fall asleep, I had trouble staying asleep. I joined a discipleship group at church on the recommendation of one of my mentors, to no avail. My primary care physician had me hospitalized for observation. I checked myself out of the hospital when he told me that he was going to bring in a psychiatrist for a consultation. The chaplain who I met while I was in the hospital referred me to a Christian doctor who was once a psychiatrist but was wary of the psychiatric profession. He counseled me on a regular basis and did eventually refer me to a practicing psychiatrist who was a Christian. I saw him a couple of times. A minister friend of my father's spent time meeting with me, as well. And, for a while, I stayed with an elderly woman from his church, just to try to get away from the activity that I was enduring in my own home.
Needless to say, my life--my new life--changed dramatically. I had to quit my job. I had to give up the Sunday school position. My church attendance dropped off and I eventually stopped attending services altogether. I thought that I was demon-possessed and that my salvation was an illusion.

In 1995, I moved back to San Antonio, Texas. I stayed with one of my brothers and his family for several months while I tried to sort through what was going on. Another one of my brothers got the ball rolling on semi-regular therapy with a psychologist. She, in turn, got me into treatment through the local university health system after I threatened suicide in a phone call to my parents shortly after I moved into my own place.

Eventually, I received psychotherapy through the local medical school's training program. One of the therapists was able to break through. Around 1999 or so, I recovered enough to be able to start writing poetry again. Many of my poems were about brain disease and the effects of brain disease. I rarely wrote about spiritual themes. Sometimes, though, I considered going to church or seeking spiritual counseling again. However, I still thought that the Lord had given me up. It seemed pointless to try to approach Him.
Over the years, I learned how to shoot and edit video. I produced a community television program dedicated to creative writers and made a few short films. I hoped to use the various skills for a full-time career as a producer. Then, one day in April 2008, I woke up with intense pain in my left eye. Although my ophthalmologist was able to give me some drops that relieved some of the pain, my vision in that eye deteriorated over the next several months. I was sent to a neurologist who thought that I might have pseudotumor cerebri. (She also mentioned the possibility of multiple sclerosis during one appointment.) I was having other health problems, too. Before any conditions could be confirmed or ruled out, the vision in my right eye also started to deteriorate. Not too long after that, my ophthalmologist sent me to a Retina and Uveitis specialist. He tested me for tuberculosis. The test came back negative. After a thorough exam, he said, "It looks like sarcoidosis to me." (Basically, sarcoidosis is an autoimmune disorder in which clusters of inflammatory cells can affect multiple organs. Even when a flare up ends, scar tissue that affects normal function of the body's organs can be left behind. Sarcoidosis can affect the eyes in the form of uveitis and other disorders.) Sarcoidosis is suspected in my case but has yet to be confirmed. However, the disorder has affected my eyes, skin, kidneys and other organs. When I think about ailments I've had over the past two decades, some of them fit a diagnosis of sarcoidosis. I've even wondered if the brain disease is secondary to the sarcoid. Some of the other health problems that I've had in the past few years are most likely unrelated to an autoimmune disorder.

After the specialist made his diagnosis, he prescribed oral corticosteroids to try to suppress my immune system. I had many episodes where pain would hit me hard, though, often in my muscles and joints. For some reason, when I would feel the pain, I began saying, "Thank You, Lord!" After a few weeks of this, I laughed to myself when I thought about how I was thanking God for pain.

My life took another turn when I came close to dying on May 2, 2010. I won't go into great detail, but emergency medical technicians rushed me to the hospital after I experienced difficulty breathing, among other things. I didn't fully realize I had come close to dying until an emergency room doctor told me that a CT scan showed bilateral pulmonary emboli, multiple blood clots in both lungs that apparently had resulted from a large clot in one leg breaking free and breaking up. A different physician pretty much took over from there. An ultrasound that was done the next day revealed that another blood clot was still in my left leg. Pulmonologists consulted with a physician from my hematologist's practice. They discussed the different treatment options and risks with each other...in front of me. (I also had a bleeding issue. So, I was bleeding and clotting at the same time.) An endocrinologist was part of the treatment team, too, because the oral steroids had evidently caused Cushing's syndrome, leading to diabetes. You know your health situation is precarious when doctors tell you things such as, "You're lucky you didn't die from this," "You're still not out of the woods," and "They're trying to come up with the best plan to treat you because they're probably not going to get a second chance at it."

During my approximately week and a half hospitalization, I had enough solitude to contemplate what had happened in my life, not only the brush with death, but also the distance I had felt from the Lord for so many years. At one point, I watched a news report about people who had died in flooding back east. At another point, I thought about the fact that Mother's Day was going to fall on May 9th that year. As I looked at flowers and "Get Well Soon" cards and other encouraging expressions from family and friends, I thought that, had the Lord not spared my life when a large clot broke off from my leg and broke up into many pieces in my lungs, those flowers could just as well have been a funeral arrangement and my parents would have buried me just before Mother's Day.

Late one afternoon during one of these moments of solitude, as I thought about how I was blessed, not lucky, I dined on some broth and looked out the hospital window. Although my vision was very hazy from the uveitis, I could tell that it was a sunny day. I was grateful to be alive. I was grateful for the broth. People like to joke about hospital food. To me, it tasted wonderful. I was glad that I was here, period. And, it was a joy to have some eyesight. A sense of gratitude overflowed and I said, "Thank You, Lord." When I said those words that time, two things came to mind: the passage about the ten lepers and the words "thy sins be forgiven thee". (Luke 17 contains an account about Jesus healing ten lepers. Only one glorified God and thanked Him. He was the only one who received spiritual as well as physical healing. "[T]hy sins be forgiven thee" is from Mark 2:5.) I started weeping and said, "I thought You had left me!" That's when Hebrews 13:5 ("...I will never leave you, nor forsake you.") came back to my mind. I cannot adequately explain the comfort, the reassurance of God's presence that overwhelmed me in that hospital room. It was "...the peace of God, which passeth all understanding...." (Philippians 4:7)

My health has been up and down since that particular hospital stay. It's improving. No matter what, I know that the Lord will not leave me. That long, lonely wilderness experience in which I mistakenly thought that the One who created me had abandoned me has ended. Hope is back. There is reconnection with God. I am restored. And, that is the promise of Easter.

For the next several weeks, I plan to post work of mine that was previously published on a different site. (The owners of the site decided to shut it down.) This flash fiction piece, "The Pool", was first published early in 2012. If the Lord wills, I will post a longer piece next week.

God bless.

The Pool

Andre held his breath as he was immersed into the water. Two days earlier, he was on his knees seeking--and finding--forgiveness. Now, he was publicly identifying with his Redeemer.

Helping Andre stand again, the minister concluded his baptism with the words, "Raised to walk in newness of life."

And, the church said, "Amen."