Biracial Children and Interracial Love. Love knows no color.

Interracial Love

Interracial. Biracial. Swirl. Mixed. Love. Interracial Couple. Interracial Love. Mixed Chicks.

Reflection

Taken from "Scars of Faith" written by Angel Alyson

"As you hold these words in the palm of your weary hands and soak in the context of what lies before you, is it necessary to remain non-judgmental. I am not worried about you judging me, well, perhaps some of you but more so in you judging yourselves. We are always hardest on ourselves. Writing this book has been a true test of one’s self. Myself.

The hardest part was to write in complete honesty. I could omit detail or embellish to make my story more appealing, instead I chose to write the truth. Truth in itself is a lost art. It is a messy one and often leads to self infliction and all too often the truth ends up being more dramatic than any artistically created fantasy. Clenched in your fingers or resting on your pleated khakis or torn denim are simple pages of black and white filled with complicated information, emotions and thoughts. This is my life, in your hands, literally.

I am not a Hollywood scarlet with famous parents. I am no former sitcom TV star. I was never in rehabilitation and was never a musician. The outline of my life does not seem to fit into a top selling auto biography. The reality is that in the world of top news and celebrity tabloids I am nothing more than another human being currently taking up up oxygen on this planet with no real revenue. However, often hidden in the background and undergrounds we find the most intricate creatures known to man. No one else has heard of them but they exist because one man found one creature at one time. They may not consume the highest title on the food chain but the facts about them are concrete and enlightening. This is me.

My life from the beginning of conception was very “normal” or so my parents tell me. I didn’t start off in this world as a desolate child in turmoil or in utter despair. I did not fight to live on the streets and I did not worry about how I would feed myself when the hunger pains did not fail to cease, nor was I set aside for greatness or royalty. I was the classic all American girl, with two loving parents, one sibling, in an middle-upper class family, who sat in church on Sundays and enjoyed playing with Barbie’s. Surely this scenario is not the makings of a great book, or is it? Has the world today put too much emphasis on the fiction when the true drama is in reality? Not the fabricated TV show displays of reality, rather, the real affects that one choice, one spoken word can have on another human being. Reality causes a rippling effect and will either build or destroy everything in its path. This is the very real reality that crushes our spirit or strengthens our soul, the harsh reality that life isn’t always going to be ok.

If you are looking to read the first few pages and the last few pages to save yourself time and get just enough information to let you slide by a book report, than you will fail. The value of my life it is not in the beginning, nor the end. It is in the middle and in the lessons learned along the way. I do not say that lightly nor do I say that with a cliché tone. I say it with heartfelt sincerity and hope that these words reach inside to the barren depths of your despair and offer you what you need at the exact time that you need it. Anyone who reads these words will either be offended and embarrassed by my honesty or moved beyond any words by my bravery sometimes seen as stupidity.

The pages may appear to be an obvious black and white but I assure you it is in all truth, very gray. I have seen too often that lies and honesty often blend into such a fine dust that at times, the two cannot be told apart. What pains me more than always having to decode the truth is having to decode people that claim to speak it. They stand before us as human shells housing the magicians of deceit, the wolf in sheep’s clothing, the knight in shining armor. The less obvious offenders like our best friends stand beside us as our husbands. our mothers, our father, ourselves. In a world that is so full of color, I have found very little clarity. How does one get from here to there? Leave it to love to start it all, of course.

One man started this entire whirlwind, the very man that labeled me with a heart

condition in the autumn months of 1997. Up until this year I don’t think my life was much to write about. This heart condition is rare, untreatable and painful. One emotion at a time we give a piece of ourselves away. It is called having a heart of gold. And today, November 2nd 2008 gold has gone out of style. But I am ok with being a little outdated as long as I remain myself.

I refuse to coat myself in another form to look more appealing and to meet today’s standards. I refuse to change the contents of my genetic make up to please others and to remain a trend. I am here, firm in my faith and in myself, and perhaps, someday, maybe someday far away, gold will be back in style and worth more than it was when I first became it.

Today you can sell your unwanted gold scraps. Place the pieces into a bag, mail

and receive a check. It makes me think, am I that easily disposable? What one person
considers scraps can be treasure pieces holding the only link one has to their past. So, do
we let go and cash in, or hold on and accept the true meaning of value?

Years ago when the thought of putting my life into words first began, even I

myself wondered, was my life worth writing about? Worth is described as “The quality that renders something desirable, useful, or valuable”. I may not know my value but I do know my quality. So, these words will go to press with nothing more than faith in having no appraisal.

As I sit here reflecting on my almost 31 years of existence, I glare back into the rear view mirror fogged with lessons of faith, visions of beauty and a driving force of passion pushing me forward into the open road. With one hand on the wheel and the other on my heart, the horizon is always a fair share away. The mile markers pass with every event and every occasion yet at the end of every mile, I realize the journey is always just beginning.

Every day that we take a breath and watch our chest rise to meet the expectations of this world and every moment our hearts sets sail on the sea of hopes and dreams in this

lifetime, we not only become not one step closer to the end but also one step closer to the beginning.

From my emerald green eyes, luminous tears of amazement pour from my soul for the appreciation of the scenery along this lengthy and sometimes seemingly fatal road trip. Behind me I have left the storms of pain, endured the tornadoes of the unknown, battled hurricanes of the mind and have been struck by the lightning of harsh realities of this very human earth.

Beside me on the outskirts I have seen the subtle vast elegance of nature bursting

through the busy cities. I have watched the view change along with the seasons. I have
seen the snow fall along the mountains that I have fought so hard and courageously to rise above. I have felt the breeze of the crisp autumn air beneath my golden locks as I looked to the array of colors blazing like fire through the quiet before the dead of winter. I have smelled the scent of drying linens hung out on the clothes line for the world to see while they basked in the sundrenched beams of summer. I have heard the sound of birds chirping and a bee’s wing fluttering with anticipation for the life ahead.

The bottoms of stilettos are clearly worn. The buckles have loosened and the

leather has stretched more than it was ever designed to. The mud from the rains puddles
have now long dried yet the dampness will never truly fade. Not even with time. My feet
have been blistered from the endless travels of the seemingly never ending upward hills
and the downward spirals that brought me crashing to my knees. The heel has been worn down from the tired shuffling when I simply could not take one more step. The color was once so alive now stands dimmed from the sweltering hot of the moments that couldn’t end fast enough.

As my saturated and wrinkled hand reaches for the wipers to erase all imperfections from my view, I stop and I think. Without this rain, the flower bulbs beneath the soils surface only miles ahead would never blossom. Without these imperfections and signs to slow down and proceed with caution, the life waiting to immerse would never be given the chance. My size nine foot hits the brakes and places the car into stop. I step out barefooted with my toes sunken into the soil. I throw my hands up into the lightening filled sky feeling the thunder rumble beneath my heels. I cannot tell if it is tears or rain that fall down my porcelain cheek and over my pale pink lips. Just before I shout at life for making my travels so difficult, I looked not at what is behind me, not at what is beside me and not what is above me or below me. I look ahead at what is before me.

Through the hail and wind I can see the sky of baby blue and violet decorated with rays of fuchsia coloring the road ahead. It may be raining where I stand at this moment in time but I know that this rain will bring life along my way. It seems so far with my tires deep in the wet soil. It seems like such a long road with my gas tank near empty. But luckily for me I learned twelve years ago that nothing is what it seems and that beauty is only one other perspective away.

I throw caution into the wind and the map into a heap piles onto my faded dash. I reach into the glove box and take out all my memories and scatter them into the wild winds as seeds to be planted, to grow into something far beyond what they were to me. I pack my blessings into the back seat so that when my trip seems a little lonely, I can look over my shoulder and know that I never traveled alone. When my eyes begin to flutter from the weary hours of travel I can turn the sound up on my inner dreams to focus on where I am going. On the front seat is my torn and tattered bible, unfolding at the seams. God, His word, my constant companion and compass, never having left my side.

My destination I know is far more beautiful than anything my mind can begin to

comprehend but it is this journey, this road that has led me to the people that have been
my road signs when I was lost or misguided. It was you who sung off key to keep me
awake in the darkened hours. It was you who showed up at oddest of times simply to say
I love you. It was you who shared your hope when mine was missing and who gave your
strength when I was broken down. While this path has not always been easy, it has certainly been rewarding.

I don’t know if my life is “worth” writing about, but I do know that my journey

has been worth the suffering. For if we never suffered we would never truly understand
compassion. What we do after understanding however, well that’s not another story, and it is this one."

Laid to Rest

One month ago, a seven year old boy had difficulty seeing. He was taken to his pediatrician for a check up. Days later the test results were in. This little boy had brain stem cancer. Just weeks before this he was dancing, riding his bike, and the world was a kind place. Days after his diagnosis his small head was covered in sutures, and his arms covered in brusies. IV's and tubes poured from his little body. He could barely speak and hold his head upright. He could no longer eat and only food from a tube would attempt to nourish him. He was disappearing before our very eyes. The first thing to vanish, was his smile. Medically, it was not possible as the nerve damage began to manifest. The doctors gave up hope and sent the little boy home to die. He was struggling, suffering, tormented by fear. The pastor came to visit and talked about the love of Jesus and how Jesus would make us new. He explained that being baptized with water would represent dying and rising new in Christ. "Do you want to be baptized? Do you want to follow Jesus?" he asked. A little boy who's life was pouring from his veins was about to answer. Life was cruel, it hurt, and as he watched his three little sisters play, he realized it also wasnt fair. "YES." The little boy answered. After everything he had been through, all the agony his mind and body were in, this little boy still wanted to follow Jesus. Sure, he wasn't happy, probably somewhat angry, but he still knew that his God loved him and wanted to follow Him, even in this tragic time. LESSON ONE. A week later little Stephen was asked to "Make a Wish". He wanted to fly like the birds and angels. He settled for a plane ride to Disney World. Bound to a wheel chair and deteriorating quickly, he flew for the first time. The place he arrived at was not the happiest place on earth, in fact, it quickly became hell. Days into the trip, this little boy lost his ability to hear, then to see. He was flown home early, and his dream cut short, along with his life. Hours after his arrival home, he struggled to breath, and he took his last breath in his parents arms. His three little sister did not fully grasp what had happened, but one girl understood more than the others. She had wanted for weeks only one thing, to hold her brother. He had been in so much pain that this was not possible, but on this day, while he was in the arms of Jesus, she crawled next to him and held him as the hours past. To hold her brother, to hug him, was her final goodbye. Two days later people were knelt in prayer before a small white casket trimmed with gold. Stuffed animals lined the church floor and the people wept. The parents, suffering and in the middle of tragedy still were able to mutter the words "Praise God..." They did not praise God because there son was dead, rather they praised God because HIS son had died, allowing us all to live for eternity beside a King. While our hearts all knew this, the reality of this moment, the pain of this time, pushed that thought to the back corners of the church. Our hearts stood in faith, but our bodies wept in mourning. God loved us so much that He gave his only son. He sent Him here to live and to die. God gave us everything dear to Him, His heart was on that cross as His son bled to death for the sins of the world. Jesus could not even carry his cross as his neared the end of his earthly journey. Why? Because he was already carrying all of our sins. As tears hit the sanctuary floor, I gazed up at the gold cross hung high above the casket. The tears fell harder than the springtime rain to soon follow this death. Did I cry because Stephen was gone, or did I cry because our God was so great? The irony of this moment is overwhelming but it also proves that God's love and peace are abundant in times when we cannot imagine facing this cruel world alone. The fact that any mouth near this tragedy could even mutter words of the Lord, is evidence that God if faithful. Not a dry eye left that church that evening, and the day to follow the tears continued. Adults and children carried this little boys body to rest. A video of his life played on several screens, but the greatest performance of this little boys life was not this moment of death, but the moment he gave his heart to the Lord. How long will one grieve for a death that came too soon, how long will his memory stay fresh in our minds and how long must the pain continue since his has stopped? Where his pain ended, ours began. All we can do is pray that our joy comes in the morning and that the pain of this cruel world is lifted enough for us to continue carrying on in our journey home, where we all have a room, decorated and designed just for us.

Romans 8:38-39 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Lord, Give me a SIGN...

Was that a sign, or a wakeup call? How many times in life does something happen that leaves us asking that very question? The older I get, the more that I am realizing that when our hearts speak, it is almost ALWAYS the right answer. If life has brought you to one moment, you are probably supposed to be there. Yet, we ignore it, make excuses for it, refuse to believe it, and walk away. Then, years later, we wake up asking ourselves what went wrong. What is missing? What is missing! What is missing is that piece of your heart that your heart was left behind when you ignored what it was saying. NOW, picking up the pieces of your heart is no easy task, but even harder, is locating the pieces so you can begin putting it all back together. Sometimes, very rarely, a piece of your heart will fall into your hands, your email, your facebook, your life, and even some places you never imagined. When this happens, are we really expected to keep going the way we are? How can one ignore that a piece has returned. I used to see myself as a whole, but today, all I see are pieces and without that one missing piece, we will never be complete. If you had the opportunity to complete yourself, wouldn't you take it? But more importantly, it appears that sometimes, going the wrong way, is the right way...

That One Boy

That One Boy. You know the one. The one that makes you do crazy things, say crazy things and most of all, believe crazy things. He is like temporary insanity. Your system goes haywire and you loose all sight of reality. Yet each time you see his picture you develop amnesia and remember none of the crap, just that smile. It is a vicious cycle. So, who is my One Boy? He was the milk to my cookies, the meatballs to my spaghetti, the peanut butter to my jelly and now, he is a memory.Yesterday a friend called with urgency. They had something I had been hoping for. I myself didnt even know what I had been hoping for. She came in and looked as if she was going to tell me that someone had died. She reached into her purse and pulled out a plain white envelope. The last time I had seen a plain white envelope and a look of such nature upon someones face was in 1997, when the love of my life retrned my grandmothers wedding band into an envelope and left it on my car window breaking up with me. Here I was, 13 years later, almost 14, opening another plain white envelope, from the same boy, somewhat for the same reason. It felt like someone had died. Dreams died, old feelings died and a piece of me did as well. Over the 14 year long, drawn out sogga and drama of my One Boy, that ring was exchanged many times. Sometimes in teenage marriage proposals, sometimes in love, sometimes in anger, sometimes in regret but this time it was different. I am sitting here wearing it now. Remembering his hands, the oil and greese under his nails with the platinm peeking through. I think back to the moments where he hurt me. The night he choose his friends and alcohol over me and the night where he was too scared to tell me the truth, so he told me nothing. For 3 years I have wondered why he didnt just say it was over. I think back to that God awful night. I had flown 3000 miles to surprise him for his birthday. I always promised him I would be there for 30. Just the year before, he called from his birthday party with the karaoke man playing "Miss American Pie" in the background. I had to be there for 30. I got to the party location and there she was. A beautiful blonde standing next to him, it wasnt me. I couldnt ruin his day. I couldnt kick and scream. I went to the restroom and wiped the mascara from my cheeks. I reminded myself that I only promised to be there to watch him turn 30 and I had. I walked out the restroom door with my head down praying he didnt see me and SMACK I ran into him coming out of the mens restroom. He didnt speak. He didnt move. He stood there frozen like the night he first lied to me at the landing at the top of his creaky stairs. I smiled through my tears, literally, and touched his shoulder and whispered, "Happy Birthday Kiddo". I walked away. Part of me thought I should stay and fight, the other part said that if you love someone you should let them go. I let go. As best I could. I guess after all is said and done, all in all it wasnt a bad day. That One Boy has been many things to me over the years, but has never been my One Regret. Even after everything we had put each other through, I can still smile ever so slightly when I imagine him and what we were, what we could have been. I guess if it wasnt love, it was alot like love.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

I am the girl with a million photos of herself. Why? Your face has the ability to capture a complete essence. A moment in time where your heart aches, cries, screams, hopes, and even bleeds. Our emotions pour through our luminescent eyes and beam through our smiles. Our face, our demeanor, our essence, has the ability to change lives. There is great power in beauty, or is there only power in confidence? Beauty is not limited to the flesh, beauty without heart, is dead. My creamy porcelain skin has been tainted by guilt, my golden locks have been dimmed with regret, and my lips have been dried by unresolved appologies. But, reguardless of what the past has handed me, is not what I have in my spirit, chosen to become. Beauty is wreckless in a sense that it holds such little regard for what others call it. It is relentless, it is contagious, and it fights. Beauty is brutal. This face of mine is all I know, it was the only one that God has given to me and He calls it by name. If I am precious in His eyes, then shouldn't my eyes appear precious? If I am a daughter of a King, shouldn't I shine? And if I am blessed beyond measure with the love of a man, who has become my Savior, shouldn't I hold my head high? If you were to look upon my heart as you do my flesh, your eyes would not be so pleased, I am sad to say. How strange is that our skin, our hair, even our muscles regenerate more quickly than a wounded spirit. We can paint our lips, tone our locks, and tighten our flesh, but to cover the spirit, to cover the heart, appears to be a leathal and useless task. No matter what we try to cover, surfaces. This is why one must first strive for a pure heart and a gentle spirit, when wanting to the world to take notice in their "beauty". Sure a picture is worth a thousand words, but what is it saying? Some may be pleased with having a beautiful cover, but my spine, my binding, my context, is where my heart lies, it is merely expressed through this, shell. Just because my eyes are green does not mean they are filled with envy, oh no, they are emeralds from the Kings crown. My lips have not been stained berry from shed blood of hurtful words, oh no, they strive to speak the blood of Jesus. My hair is not golden because it desires to be rich, oh no, I am simply basking in the light of the Lord. Beauty is intriguing, but what is behind such a photo, such a mind, such a heart, is the true mystery to be discovered. Few have truly heard my hearts desires. My photos, oh they speak, but do you understand?

Dessert Rose

Parched and void I stand among the echoing of deafening silence. The sweltering sun beats down upon my bare back warming my shoulder blades as two of hot steel. Sweat dripping from my forehead and down each crevice upon my neck.

I stand in ontop the hot grains of ground rock feeling the heet pulsing through my flesh and radiating upward through my legs. I can feel the blood within my veins begin to boil. I am alone. I am dissolving. I am scared. I am helpless.

A lone tree stands barron. Its leaves long gone, it hangs it branches twards the ground as if it too was lost and about to die. I close my eyes and see a a tree filled with glorious greens exploding with life. Those days seem to have been years before. I wonder if that tree will ever grow plush again.

The wings blow strongly across the grainy sands of lost time. Past regrets whisk through the air and failures exfoliate my flesh, stripping me down to nothing. A sand storm is on approach. In the distance beyond my heat hazed vision I can see a mound of air filled with the sands that have traveled great distances.

I pull from within all my courage and all my strength. I see the storm approaching. Suddenly I see a piece of hope placed among this dead land, this dead life, my dead self. I have no strength to trudge through the sand but I must because it is calling to me. I am gravitated to it as if it were a magnet but as my weary feet approach I stand with a single rose upon my feet.

The petals are of peach color like my first loves flesh. The green leaves resemble her emerald green eyes. The stem stands long with a single thorn to make all perfections, simply imperfect. The delicate bloom lays on the sands as if it were its home, as if it were waiting to be found.

How long has it been their adding beauty and life to its surroundings of nothingness. How long as it waited to be cared for, to be watered. How did something so beautiful get inside my world?

The storm is brewing and gaining strength from my mistakes. It is moving fast and fierce. I fall to my knees in utter exhaustion and slam my clenched fists to the ground and scream into the air hoping my words will hit the horizon and fly to God.

With my head hung low and my hands folded in prayer, I begin to weap but no tears come. I cannot cry anymore. My tears have long dried, I imagined, until one last tear escaped and fell from my weary eye. It fell upon the rose and its aromas filled my senses. I lowered my head some more to feel the satin petal against my cheek. To feel life near me, beauty pressed against me, and hope to breath life inside me.

The noise became unbearable. Pounding through my ear drums. The storm was here. I looked the storm in the eye and saw its wrath. I looked at the rose and saw its beauty. I held the sand in my palms and felt is emptiness, I held the stem of the rose in my hand and felt its life. I had no choice but to endure this storm if I ever wanted to experience this beauty.

I held the rose against my bare chest and sat against the deadened tree. I crossed my arms and held my delicate flower. I braced myself with my feet dug into the sand. I close my eyes and prayed that I would make it through this storm.

The wind and sand howled around me. My flesh became torn and sore. The pain lasted for hours as the world inflicted its wrath upon me. Maybe I deserved this. Maybe I would suffer for my wrongs. Maybe this storm would destroy me. A single petal fell from the rose in fear. I held it closer. I breathed in its essence and felt its petals texture.

The winds calmed and the sun began to set. The stars above the desert were never ending. Clarity was all abound. Tranquility poured from the dead blue heaven above. My arms slowly uncrossed and the rose fell to my lap where it was illuminated by the moon.

Beauty abound glowing in the nights peace. I rubbed the petals against my skin to feel its beauty next to me. I held it. I caressed it. I smelled it. I soaked it in. I had found my rose among the dead life. I held my rose throughout the storm. Beauty and life was beginning to emerge. My eyes closed under the midnight sky with a flower in my arms. I knew, without a doubt, that tomorrow would offer a world of promise. I had been through the storms of life and found the beauty I desired. Now, it is time to live and overdue to love.

Dear Sara

How many times will I write you Dear Sara? I just sent you a sister... Please be waiting to hold her hand. She was so tiny and so small. I never felt her move. I never saw her smile. I never held her hand. Her hands will be much smaller than yours, so you will be her big sister. I have named her Patience. She fought the hardest to grow but mommys belly couldn't take it. Pain flooded my womb day and night. She was beautiful just like you. I prayed over you and for you as much as I could, but baby you and her could not be mine, you belonged to God. I spoke often to you often. Sara, Eden lasted as long as you. I saw her heart beating, her chin and arms and legs, she graced the screen like a dream come true. My belly bumped and round. I prepared a room for her that now sits empty. Oh Sara, why did God take her home? Forgive me Sara, I spoke to Eden often. You see, I knew she was growing in me long before I lost her. Sara sweetie, I didnt love you any less. You housed inside my body the longest but I didnt know you were there. Please forgive me my dearest Sara. You both will forever be inside my heart. Sisters. Dear Sara, you have seen your brother over the years holding my hand beside me here on earth. Show them who is he is so they can watch us too. Make sure they know to watch there earthly sister grow. She is so joyful, tell them all dear Sarah how much she will love to one day give them hugs and kisses. I know neither of you have wings as mothers hope you do but child, dear Sara, we all know that you don't need wings to fly. Soar within your heart. Live within your desires. It is almost Valentines Day. I lost you and sent you Grace the same month but in different years. A month that celebrates love. I guess this was a fitting month, even if it was for loss. Patience, Eden and Grace will all be painted differently than you dear Sara, but they will have your mommys eyes. Dear Sara, look for your mothers eyes in them. You see dear Sara, I saw you older, I have looked into your eyes, I know when mommy gets to heaven I will be able to hold my little girls. I know that day will come. Sara, you are the oldest, please tell them they are sisters. Please make sure that Grace, Eden, and Patience stay together, they were so close in time here, I would like them to remain. Last but not least dear Sara, there is one more. God never told me his name. His time with mommy was the shortest of you all. I said goodbye the same day I said hello. I never got his name.I call him Gabriel because it means "God is might" I close my eyes and see baby blue foot prints. I lost him right after I lost you. Please dear Sara, look for mommys eyes in him. He left mommy just months after you. He fought for the shortest time, I was heartbroken Sara loosing you, then he broke my heart, but then came my precious son. Dear Sara, I have given you 4 hands to hold and only two hands yourself, so instead just hold them in your heart. I will close my eyes tonight and see 5 little hearts. Four pink and one blue and tonight dear sara, please know how much your mommy loves you. Look into the heavens beyond the glorious angels. You will see a heart of gold in holding. That is your mother. Wait for me, do not travel far, hold onto your sisters and your brother. Do not cry because I am not there to craddle you, rather sing so mommy can feel you from heaven. I love you my dearest Sara. 12 years ago you left this earth but baby, you will never leave my heart. I know that I have sent you a handful dear baby, but you and Eden were mommys strongest, please take care of the little ones... Patience, Eden, Grace, Gabriel, Sara.... I love you, always, Mommy.

I See the Light

Fall is coming to an end, just as a precious life. Today the seasons passed along with a loved one. The crisp November air faded out into the sound of Irish bag pipes. The wind was cold but the emotions were bitter. Hundreds of people wore black and were adorned with sunglasses and tears. I stood strong and firm in my belief that she was with the Lord now, but that comfort left with one vision. Gathered on the streets of a small town stood 4 young boys carrying their mothers casket. Their sister stood and watched. 5 children laying their mother to rest. The world seemed so cruel. I thought about how many children I had lost, I wondered if my child had lost their parent, I dreaded that I did not loose mine. Thoughts began to clutter. The old stained doors opened into the Roman Catholic Church. Priests in robes of white and gold lined the isle. A gold cross with the crucifix stood as tall as the cathederal ceilings. I grabbed my sons hand and we walked, listening to the endless soles of shoes tapping as they walked her to the altar. The last time I stood at an altar was just shy of ten years ago when I married my cowboy. I took a seat and soaked it all in. I replayed my walk down the isle with santa clause behind my groom, I looked to my son, his twin, who sat beside me. I thought back to the good times and to the bad, to the better and to the worse, and to the sickness and the health and today, till death do we part. The circle of life and the irony of God's timing has always remained a mystery to me. Today, even more so. Love has redefined itself many times over the past decade. Love continue to amazes me. Most of all, the love that God has for us. Truly unconditonal. I looked back at my own life and saw a life similiar to Job. Tears began to fall as I looked back on some of the most hurtful moments in my existance. I asked God the dreaded question, that rarely seems answered. Why? And than, right there, in the middle of catholicism, God spoke through the priest. "Life will hurt you. Life will sting you. Life may even break you. But is then, when life cracks you, that God's light can truly shine out of you and reach others." ~Father Bill. Tears literally poured down my face. No noise came out. This has only happened a handful of times in life, all times when I lost someone I had loved the most. Who was grieving for today? Was it for her? Or was it over love itself? The priest continued to speak from the Lord. He talked about how we all have done things wrong, we all have been consumed by something in this life, we all have done something that has needed forgiveness. Right there, at that moment, I let it all go and it poured from my soul, rolled down my cheek in the form of tears, and pooled at my feet like the blood of Jesus. Oh the times I had made mistakes, the times where things got so dark that I let go of who I was, the hurtful words I had spoken, the times that I could not take back. I knew God would forgive me, but would he, would she, would they, would I? Next to me sat a product of love. The most beautiful boy I have ever seen. Sure, times werent always the best, but I was convinced that only love could create such beauty. I thought about how God loves his children, and the tears began to cease. I looked up to a staindglass window towering over me. It was Jesus holding his mothers hand. The high noon sun began to slowly drift across the array of colored glass. It looked as if the picture danced in joy and basked in peace, and somehow this feeling overflowed upon my flesh and soaked into my soul. God took the wounds and closed them. He brought pink back to my flesh and joy back to my spirit. I looked upon the children of the mother who had passed, I looked upon the window of the mother who had lost her child, and I starred upon my sons precious face and gave thanks for every single moment of his life. It felt like today, I was given a second chance at life. A new beginning on the past and an opportunity to love like I should have the first time around. Love like Christ.

Romans 8:38-39 "For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

I stand undeniable, yet remain invisible. Beauty caught in a box for safe keeping. Gaze upon it as convenience allows, hold in gently in your hand to feed your desires. Fill yourself up and leave me empty, why should life change now? I thought the glorious winds would be my day to fly, but they left me disappointed, the air never touched my wings. I thought the rains would be my doom, but they were friends to my tears. Beautiful, beautiful being, left all alone. Take this beauty from my flesh, it has been no good to me. What good is being beautiful if there are no eyes to look upon it?

The Girl In The Photo

Here I am. Angel Alyson. It is not my real name, however, it is my real photo. These are my real thoughts, ideas, dreams, desires and failures. My photo is black and white, but all words that flow are merely, gray. Always room for interpertation. It has been a while since I have written to you. If anyone even reads this, that is. In the past few months that my keys have sat un-tapped, life has moved in ways that I could never inagine. Perhaps you thought my life had slowed down, maybe I ran out of things to talk about, but in reality, I have been too busy living life and simply have not had time to "talk" about it. You see, I am a woman that believes in God. A woman that believes in life, love and other mysteries. the calender has been flipping through, quickly approaching the holidays and I am once again overwhelmed with the past, the present and most of all, my future. I was not raised in Hollywood yet the Marilyn look seems to stand with me through the years. I have now found myself as a 30 year old woman who will always be forever 29. Why 29? It was in this year that I found myself. I found myself in the silence of self pitty, in the depths of my despair, in the sadness of an unborn child lost, in the acceptance of love, in the growing of my spirit, in the outreaching of my hands, in the grace of God, in the laughter of my son, in a collection of emotions, tragedies, and joys, I put myself together. After every event I small piece of me remained, more polished than before. As I collected those bits n pieces, a beautiful mosaic formed. It was not uniformed, even, consistent nor rare. It was a little messy, discolored, displaced and all too common. I then realized my beauty was not in my flaws and my wrongs, rather what rose from my ashes. Not in the moments that occured, but in the moments that occured after. Now what I was handed, but what I choose to do with them. Most of all, this year, on this beautiful 30th year evening that I have been alive, I have made peace with myself and learned to forgive. Myself and my darkest enemies. It was only after forgiveness, that I have truly been able to do the greatest of all things. Love. So, with that, on this new year and new season of my life, I will tell you that my name means, "loveable" and I am finally ready to accept that. "Are you ready for marriage all over again?" he asked. I may not deserve someone as amazing as him, but I do deserve to be loved and with that thought, I say, yes. Here is to God, life, love and other mysteries and most of all, to being a strong 30.

An Angels Thoughts

"I have wrestled with the idea of leaving these last pages blank until the ring is slipped upon my finger by his loving hands but in life, true faith is speaking and believing in which we cannot see, that which has not happened yet. Faith is a boldness and certainty that puts mere thoughts into reality. It is about seeing what we desire and speaking it into existence as God spoke life into this world. Faith may sometimes look crazy, irrational, and you may seem like a dreamer but it is in that part of your heart that belief overflows and ripples through your existence and pushes you into thriving.

I have not suffered for 12 years only to come this far to say God bless and end this story. You see, after all I have been through and all that I know and all that I do not know, I have yet to fully accept what God has promised me. Fear of change, lack of self worth, and many other things stand in the way of my blessings, but meeting this man that amplifies Gods love before my very eyes leaves me no choice but to close my eyes, tell myself I am worth it, and say…yes. To him, to God, to life.

There is no diamond on my hand yet I know without a doubt that the silver man is mine. There are no wings on my back yet I know without a doubt that I when the Lord calls me home, I will dwell in heaven. I must go beyond the surface to where my true self can be discovered. You will not see my definition in a mirror reflection nor see my true self on a 14karat gold band. My life, myself is engraved in my wounds, deep within the flesh, straight to the heart and piercing my soul. My beauty is not smoothed across my skin or made pretty by covering it in pink and my faith is not found in my porcelain complexion for all to see.

My faith has been sown in my suffering and watered in my tears. Anguish has not destroyed but nourished this tiny seed and today December 17, 2009 beauty is emerging. It has found its way through the muddy soil and is reaching towards the sun and the promises of life and love. Today, I will say yes. Today, I will grow into the woman I desire to be and the woman God designed me to be. Today, my end, has truly become my beginning.

This journey has taken many turns. Detours and one ways appeared out of thin air. I was often left with no map and no companions. I was left to find my own way, which at moments seemed so cruel. However, it was in those quiet solitude times that I would fall to my knees and listen to God speak, to my own heart speak and there, in the hard times Gods grace would fall like spring rain.

As the sun rose after a long period of darkness, the dew would rise to meet it as if they were old friends. The dampness would begin to lift and the coldness would begin to warm and hope was in every sunbeam. My feet and dreams would rise as well looking forward to a brighter today.

Just as my mind began to fall back into thoughts of why I had to endure a storm, a tiny green leaf peaked above the muck. It needed that rain to grow. It needed the sun to grow. It needed space and time to grow. Just like me.
I hope to never be plucked from the soil. I hope to add beauty and color to everyone that may come across my path and if they too find themselves in a storm, I will hope that my blossoms will blow in the wind to show them, that their, in the storm, faith will move you. It is unseen yet powerful. It has the ability to move you, if you choose not to fight it.

On my belly you fill find a road map of scars. Upon my forearms you will find a list of scars. The ones cut deep into my flesh tell a story of a girl who endured much pain and the ones on my arms tell a story of a girl who knew that Gods lessons were in every stitch, every incision, every word. In the good times, He was there. In the bad times, He was there and in the times when I cried out wondering if He was there, He showed me through his grace and through the joy that came through my smile and reached others, that He would always be there. That with each scar, not only tissue was formed but faith was formed.

My flesh had been bound together with sutures and skin but my spirit had been bound to Gods joy with faith. My flawed flesh tells not a story of defeat but a story of triumph. I am not great war hero decorated with purple hearts or gold medals to display nor do I show great battle wounds, rather I carry a heart of gold, demonstrate the gift of compassion and am proudly covered in my scars of faith." ~Angel Alyson

Our WRONGS and getting to the RIGHT

"On my belly you fill find a road map of scars. Upon my forearms you will find a list of scars. The ones cut deep into my flesh tell a story of a girl who endured much pain and the ones on my arms tell a story of a girl who knew that Gods lessons were in every stitch, every incision, every word. In the good times, He was there. In the bad times, He was there and in the times when I cried out wondering if He was there, He showed me through his grace and through the joy that came through my smile and reached others, that He would always be there. That with each scar, not only tissue was formed but faith was formed.
My flesh had been bound together with sutures and skin but my spirit had been bound to Gods joy with faith. My flawed flesh tells not a story of defeat but a story of triumph. I am not great war hero decorated with purple hearts or gold medals to display nor do I show great battle wounds, rather I carry a heart of gold, demonstrate the gift of compassion and that I am proudly covered in my scars of faith." ~Angel Alyson

"The past year of my life I have faced judgement from every angle, in every way. I have heard words spoken to my face and to others that would make just about anyone sick. I have seen that ignorance is still very much alive and that others invision themselves on a throne of judgement that was made only for God and more dangerously they speak as if they sit there rightfully.

A song once said that "If loving you is wrong, than baby, I don't want to be right..." I know how that person felt. Sometimes in life, our wires and desires get lost in the overall vision of Gods perfect will. We set our own time line, move to the own beat of our drum and ignore the sympony. Rarely we meet someone that challenges all of our beliefs and casues us to question all of our motives. They cause us to examine ourselves in a way no one ever has.

Our world gets turned upside down and somehow, in finding them, we begin to find ourself and even in the middle of our mess and our mistakes, God still peaks through. How can going so off track bring you to the right destination? I know the path I am on in not visible on any map, it was never seen, never planned, never imagined yet I know without a doubt that this path, this horribly rocky, sometimes backwards, no sense road will bring me to where I need to be, where I desire to be. How can this be? Grace.

For so long my heart has always desired to help others reach a safe desitination. I have packed endless bags for homeless, fed the hungry, endangered myself visiting the encarcirated, endless speaking words of faith and encouragement even in my own times of despair. Rarely, very rarely did I cry out in solitude, asking God, "why me?". I do not feel that we are given a get out of jail free card for our mistakes compared to our good deeds, but I do believe that the Lord searches our hearts thorougly before blessing us and before judging us.

*I picture a young woman with letters in her hands. One not written to her. They were "found" and she took the liberaty the share them with others. To discuss the contents, encode, decrypt, is plain terms, gossip. They took someones wrong and turned it into a wrong for themself. Yet they look at me and ask, how could she, how dare she. Here is a mirror, ask yourself those questions as you ask me.*

"I do not stand pretending to be right. I stand real. Firm in my convictions, accepting of my wrongs and pleading often for Gods forgiveness and grace. i do not stand "holier than though" I do not play a part, act or conform to what others feel I should be. I am a woman of integrity and honesty, even if it doesnt make me look good.

Some people cannot handle the truth, so they themselves would rather roll in lies. They create, they elaborate and they speak and discuss others as if there opinion matters. It does not. Not to me. At the end of a long day when it feels the world if against me, I answer only to myself and to God.

I have times where I am hurt by others opinions of me, especially when they are based of others words and not mine. I cry in anger that others still thrive off others mistakes and shortcomings. I get bitter and must work hard to pray it away "No one makes you feel inferior without your consent" and the truth is, this world and the enemy work hard to keep us burried in our failures so that we cannot rise up and continue seeking the Lord. This is where angel meets warrior.

I do not care that the world sees my mistakes, if I let there opinions keep me in my wrongs, I will never do any right. The decisions I have made up until now and surely will do again, may not always be pleasing to the Lord, but in no way will I let that keep me from trying to make all future decisions pleasing to the Lord. It saddens me greatly when within the family and within the church, our "own kind" remind us relentlessly of the bad choices we have made. Last time I checked God told us to love one another, unconditonally.

I believe in love and letting the Lord convict. I believe in encouraging others to rise above, instead of being the dead weight holding them in there dirt. Not everyone is like me.

If you are always looking at others you will never look at yourself and I am a firm believer in self evaluation and striving daily to grow into the person the Lord gave us unlimited potential to be. We only limit ourself. So, today I am going to walk as I would before the Lord and not before those that speak ill of me. I am a child of God. Right or wrong, I am loved and as a woman held dear to my heart has reminded me often, nothing can seperate us from the love of God, nothing.

But friends, make sure the company you keep reminds you of that and never makes you question Gods love for you. No matter how wrong you have been, how often you have been, the Lord loves you and will forgive you, forgiving yourself is the hard part and feeling worthy of accepting Gods forgiveness can seem impossible, but hold to heart, that you, you, are worth it...."

"The lines drawn hold no boundaries, they can be washed with a tide. instead burry your feet into the sand and stand firm in your decisions, let no one ever draw a line limitng what has been made to be limitless. just as God..." Angel Alyson

The Open Road

"As I sit here reflecting on my almost 29 years of existence, I glare back into the rear view mirror fogged with lessons of faith, visions of beauty and a driving force of passion pushing me forward into the open road. With one hand on the wheel and the other on my heart, the horizon is always a fair share away. The miles markers pass with every event and every occasion yet at the end of every mile, I realize the journey is always just beginning.Every day that we take a breath and watch our chest rise to meet the expectations of this world and every moment our hearts sets sail on the sea of hopes and dreams in this lifetime, we not only become not one step closer to the end but also one step closer to the beginning. From my emerald green eyes, luminous tears of amazement pour my soul for the appreciation of the scenery along this lengthy and sometimes seemingly fatal road trip. Behind me I have left the storms of pain, endured the tornadoes of the unknown, battled hurricanes of the mind and have been struck by lightning of harsh realities of this very human earth. Beside me on the outskirts I have seen the subtle vast elegance of nature bursting through the busy cities. I have watched the view change along with the seasons. I have see the snow fall along the mountains that I have fought so hard and courageously to rise above. I have felt the breeze of the crisp autumn air beneath my golden locks as I looked to the array of colors blazing like fire through the quiet before the dead of winter. I have smelled the scent of drying linens hung out on the cloths line for the world to see while they basked in the sundrenched beams of summer. I have heard the sound of birds chirping and a bee’s wing fluttering with anticipation for the life ahead.The bottoms of stilettos are clearly worn. The buckles have loosened and the leather has stretched more than it was ever designed to. The mud from the rains puddles have now long dried yet the dampness will never truly fade. Not even with time. My feet have been blistered from the endless travels of the seemingly never ending upward hills and the downward spirals that brought me crashing to my knees. The heel has been worn down from the tired shuffling when I simply could not take one more step. The color was once so alive now stands dimmed from the sweltering hot of the moments that couldn’t end fast enough. As my wrinkled hand reaches for the wipers to erase all imperfections from my view, I stop and I think. Without this rain, the flowers bulbs beneath the soils surface only miles ahead would never blossom. Without these imperfections and signs to slow down and proceed with caution, the life waiting to immerse would never be given the chance. My foot hits the brakes and places the car into stop. I step out in my bare feet with my toes sunken into the soil. I throw my hands up into the lightening filled sky feeling the thunder rumble beneath my heels. I cannot tell if it tears or rain that fall down my porcelain cheek and over my pale pink lips. Just before I shout at life for making my travels so difficult, I looked not at what is behind me, not at what is beside me and not what is above me or below me. I look ahead at what is before me. Through the hail and wind I can see the sky of baby blue and violet decorated with rays of fuchsia coloring the road ahead. It may be raining where I stand at this moment in time but I know that this rain will bring life along my way. It seems so far with my tires deep in the wet spoil. It seems like such a long road with my gas tank near empty. But luckily for me I learned 12 years ago that nothing is what it seems and that beauty is only one other perspective away. I throw caution into the wind and the map in a heap piles onto my faded dash. I reach into the glove box and take out all my memories and scatter them into the wild winds as seeds to be planted, to grow into something far beyond what they were to me. I pack my blessings into the back seat so that when my trip seems a little lonely, I can look over my shoulder and know that I never traveled alone. When my eyes begin to flutter from the weary hours of travel I can turn the sound up on my inner dreams to focus on where I am going. On the front seat is my torn and tattered bible, unfolding at the seams. God, His word, my constant companion and compass, never having left my side. My destination I know is far more beautiful than anything my mind can begin to comprehend but it is this journey, this road that has led me to the people that have been my road signs when I was lost or misguided. It was you who sung off key to keep me awake in the darkened hours. It was you who showed up at oddest of times simply to say I love you. It was you who shared your hope when mine was missing and who gave your strength when I was broken down. While this path has not always been easy, it’s certainly has been rewarding. I don’t know if my life is “worth” writing about but I do know that my journey has been worth the suffering. For if we never suffered we would never truly understand compassion. I don’t know if my life is “worth” writing about but I do know that my journey has been worth the suffering. For if we never suffered we would never truly understand compassion." “"I asked God to help me love others as much as he loves me and God said, ahhhh! Finally, you have the idea"” "~Angel Alyson

MMA Meets AUTISM

On Sunday I awoke at 6am. This is not something that happens often I assure you. Often this hour appears for only 2 reasons. Either I have not yet gone to bed or I have an early flight to catch. This 6am was neither. My son was off to compete in a mixed martial arts challenge. New Jersey, New York’s and Pennsylvania’s toughest. The night before clouds of motherhood and storms of worry collided leaving a tornado of thoughts and fears spiraling through my restless mind. When this happens like to present myself with the facts and try to think logically. This is stupid. While logic comes with fact is does not come with faith. I am a woman of favorite quotes. I hate reading so quotes are like my version of cliff notes. A quote that is dear to me reads “Faith is not believing that God CAN it is knowing that He will”. NOW, I use two words that I struggle between daily “Logic is believing that God can BUT Faith is knowing that He will”. I don’t want to believe, I want to know. SO faith in fact becomes logic in my version.Here are the facts that I knew about the mornings events.1. I was going to wake up way before I wanted to, especially on a Sunday2. My son is autistic. The war to get him accustomed to socks, and buttons and zippers and hugs and the happy birthday song, oh my!3. My son like his alone time. He likes his world in order with few in it. Today was going to be anything except.4. The arena was going to be filled with noise, people and a collage of colors and lights and smells my son had sensory issues.5. I was going to watch my son willingly throw himself into a ring with children his size, same amount of knowledge and watch his world and theirs collide. Literally.6. I was going to close my eyes until the ref said “time” and pray for the entire 2 minute rounds.7. I had no idea what I was going to say if he lost and his dreams were crushed.Like any mother I work hard on a daily basis to prevent my child from harm and danger. I teach him to pay special attention to warnings and postings. I instill in him a healthy fear for the dangers life throws at us without caution or re-guard. Today however the battle was in his mind not on the mat and preparing for that fight could not happen in one pep talk. The true success of how he handled this chaos was based upon my 8 years of words both spoken to him and prayed over him. For both him and I, this was the moment we discovered if we had instilled and absorbed what it takes to win this challenge called self defeat. A challenge called life.He walked into the arena calm and excited. He didn’t notice the crowds of people or the awful fluorescent lights. He did not however like the mans voice on the loudspeakers. He found ring 14. He liked ring 14. Ring 14 was 7 plus 7. Ring 14 was good. He began to get on his gear. He popped his mouthpiece in. He took out his ear guards and strapped them on his head. I watched him flashing back to the first time I tried to place a hat on his head. He screamed as if the hat was crushing him. “Don’t touch me!” I could hear in a toddler voice. The bell rang and his name was called for weigh in. 81.5lbs. I smiled and saw the digital reading in the operating room that read 6.2lbs. Grappling was about to start. 2 minutes of wrestling. 2 minutes of touching, crushing, yelling, and pulling. All of which my son does not like. My father went to get a coffee and I asked Xavier to stand in front of me while I checked his gear. I asked him to hold my hands and pray with me. I was sitting, he stood in front of me, our eyes closed and we prayed, out loud with our heads bowed. The crowds faded out and peace moved in. The chaos became clarity for those few moments.First round, he won. Second round things got tough. His opponent laid her body on him like dead weight. I could see him look annoyed. He did not like this. He fought to get out from under the pressure but after 1 minute and 40 seconds fear and disappointment kicked in. He let his body go flat, slapped his hands down, looked the ref in the eyes and yelled “I quit!” The ref told him he couldn’t and to keep going. To try…my son said “No, I told you, I quit.” He laid there for the last 20 seconds and tears began to come. The bell rang and his opponents hand was raised. He was crying. He had another round to go. I could see him telling the judge he wasn’t go to go again. He wad done. He said this very sure of his answer. I let him sit there for a moment before I pushed through the crowd and knelt down next to him. “Lord, what am I going to say…” I sighed a few times with my hand on his leg while I waited for words to flood my mind like the tears had flooded his eyes. “Xavier…Xavier? I need you to stop crying for a minute so that your ears can listen to me” (I know this statement seems odd but in his world eyes and ears do not both happen at once. One at a time.) “You know how we have crazy days and we have good days. Today is a crazy day where everything is out of order. We need to get our minds into a good place. We don’t know what is going to happen when you fight the next round. We do know that you can do your best. We do not know if you will win a trophy but I do know you’re my hero already. We signed up for this tournament. It is important to keep our word. We cannot quit. We cannot go home. We have another round. We need to try. We will not always win the first time, the second, sometimes we will not win for many turns but one day our hard work will pay off and I promise you that one day you will see your work grow into something big that your eyes can see. If you want that trophy, if you want anything as bad as you say you do, than kiddo, your gonna have to keep going out there, time and time again and fight for it. Fight for what you want. I love you and I know you can do this.” And in my mind I heard “Claim what is yours”, signed, God.We walked away from ring 14 and the tears stopped and he was left with an angry frown. “Fine, I’ll do it but after this, I’m done” he said calmly. He stomped over to ring 17. Ring 17 was, ok but not the best number. Ring 17 was the end in his mind. He bent down and began putting on his shin guards, helmet, gloves and I began to pray. This was all out of our hands and all I could do was pray. It was the only language I could speak without thought and the only words that made no sense yet complete sense. First fight, he won. Second fight was to place and win a trophy. He won. The ref raised his hand in the air. He looked up at him and asked “me?” I laughed and cried, yes you! He looked at me with the sweat dripping from under his helmet. Bright-eyed and awestruck stood tall, smiled and said “Me!” As I took my first real breath of the day I thought to myself…yes…you. This moment was set aside for someone deserving. Someone who was a true fighter. Someone who put others first. Someone who loved because God told them to love. Someone who forgave people that most would not. This moment was designed for someone who would appreciates its true worth, the real value and show an appreciation for those that helped make this moment happen. This moment, was his. Finally. It wasn’t handed to him, it was out of pity, it wasn’t sugar coated, it wasn’t the easy level, it wasn’t put in “his” words, it was the world that everyone lives in and not only was he surviving in it, he was thriving in it.The judge looked at me with an unusual smirk. I proudly looked him in the eyes and said “Autism meets MMA, are you ready?” The “normal” children all began comparing and I put my arm around my “different” son and thanked God for all 81.5lbs of him. The children were handed a trophy my son was handed pride.The children were handed a certificate of competition my son was handed a certificate of acheivementThe children were given 2 minutes to show there strength my son was given 2 minutes to show himselfThe children were wearing protective gear my son was wearing armorThe children were filled with nerves my son was filled with faithThe children saw the colors of belts my son saw the same ring The children saw who was best my son saw who tried there bestThe children had 2 parents who yelled and shouted orders my son had a mother that spoke loudly of how much she loved himThe children wanted all the credit my son turned to me and said “Thank you”Some of the children won but my son…but my son was the winner And as cliché as this may sound…Jesus died but my God livesAnd to this day my son has perhaps given to me the greatest quote I will ever hear, “Mom, I prayed and gave it all to God last night, what else is there to pray about tonight?” I smiled and said “You know, your right, tonight…let just give thanks”

Not Today

It has been a while since I have written. I sat down to write and thought, I better not today...

FLOAT

The steal grey clouds begin to billow in the darkened navy sky. Fear and mystery dance between the collision of clouds. Total darkness is imminent. It rides the horizon waiting with precision to strike across the wild seas. The tides begin to rise with fury. Sea foam green begins to engulf my swimming body. Life begins to push far away from safety of the shores. My arms begin to paddle as if I had a chance of stopping the storm that was approaching. My fingers begin to tread and worry is stirred with outreached arms pushing waves out of my panicked sight. Uncertainty lingered in the dense air above me and the fury began to overflow in the form of tears. Rain poured from from the dim heavens and the earth called fury into the wild water.

The rolling sea became an abyss muddy colors and lost dreams. Regrets rolled in and doubt touched my face with every spritz of the salty seas. Hope poured from my body along with the heat. My heart was cold, my limbs were blue and aching. Pain spread across my flesh at the realization of the struggle before me. I looked up to see the stars lost in the suffering just as my faith lost in the pain and as the twinkling of the light miles above the earth’s surface faded, my mind soon followed. The waves towered along each side of me engulfing me, reminding me of the impossible fight. There was nothing left of the man that set out to sail so full of life. Vibrancy and courage were once his life vest. What can I do? I am cold, blind, tired and hopeless. I could not win this storm. I could not fight anymore.

I looked up with glassy eyes towards heaven and cried into the salty mist, God help me, for I cannot help myself. Still holding on to the past, like a weight it pulled my weekend body and spirit under the roaring waters. Wings began to whistle and whip. Screeching filled my mind with panic. 3.2.1. I was now looking up through the translucent tides. The world was quiet and the foam on the tip of each wave glistened from below the water’s surface. I knew this was my end. I closed my eyes and Gods promises danced across my weary eyes. I get Go and trusted He would hold on. I began to slowly sink with my arms spread open that in the vision of a cross.
Peace began to circle me like seaweed gently brushing up against my flesh like the merky waters silent tides. As I gasped for one last breath, lips softer than satin pressed against mine breathing life into my very being. Was someone here with me? Then a heavenly voice whispered through the raging waters “FLOAT”.

A chain of regret was unshackled from my leg and a chain of lost dreams was untied from the other. My heavy head fell back and with arms spread wide, I fell into submission of the storm. My feet came out from under me as I lay outstretched just above the ocean floor. Emerald green eyes appeared at the tip of my nose. They sparkled and filled with me light. “FLOAT” I lied there motionless letting the currents move me. I began to see lights far above me. The waters came to color. It felt as id the hands of hope were placed upon my back pushing me higher. I could feel someone was with me. Like strands of silk dancing in the aqua blue, her hair danced around me with the currents.

The light was closer. It was brighter. I wanted to swim to get to beauty sooner. I was anxious and began to move against the tides. Lips pressed to my ear from behind and whispered ”FLOAT”. With hands placed upon my heart, my body fell into ease. The crystal waters were painted with blue and greens. Warmth began to glide over my flesh and bones. The color was returning to my pale flesh. The waters suddenly parted. A warm breeze filled the rescued seas. Her body lied under mine almost as my shadow. Her fingers intertwined with mine she whispered “FLOAT”. Enjoy the beautiful after the storm.” She traveled with me although unseen. The birds glided like angels rejoicing that sun was about to return. It felt as if the sun would rise just for me. She whispered words of encouragement and love as I floated through the storm paths reminents. I was immersed in calm and covered favor.

I felt my heels drag against the coarse sand. Her fingers had slipped from mine. I was alone. “You are never alone” chin and raised itthe heavenly voice spoke. I pressed my palms deep within the sandy soil and came to my knees. An angel with her knees pressed into the sand before me gently cupped my chin and raised it high. “You will never be alone” she spoke from her luminescent emerald eyes and opened them wide to gsee all of, inside of me. The clouds parted and the suns rays danced across her eyes revealing shades of the ocean within them. She was with me all along. Her smile like the pearls of an oyster strung together with exact precision. Her golden locks were like strands of hope falling from heaven graced upon her shoulder like Gods mercy.

One hand I placed upon my ribs and the other drapped across my chest. From my rib an equal he knew had been created and from my chest, my heart beat not for my own survival. Our knees to the ground and there palms pressed into the soil, tears began to fall. The angel slid her hand through the mud…slowly reaching for the gift she had long claimed. She picked her chin up to look ahead at what was before her. She smiled for what felt like the first time. Her hands slid over me and the warmth of her touch caused my body to shake. She than raised her hand from the ground and placed it upon my chin and gently raised it up. She leaned forward and the palm of my hand was placed over her heart so he could feel it beating.

There was no hiding. There was no questioning. Her heart was beating just for her. When I opened my eyes I saw her reflection deep within me. I looked directly into her heart and soul. Her lips floated gently and graced his with a trust and tenderness and passion I didn’t know existed. The mud disappeared, the sun warmed, the laughter healed and the love, oh the love, save the strongest and the weakest. God’s grace was among us.

She placed my hands upon her heart “It beats for you”
She placed my hands upon her lips “They pray for you”
She placed my hands upon her face “My beauty was designed for you”
She placed my hands in hers “FLOAT”

“You once stood at the shore line cursing love and even life. You stood with your feet embedded in the sand, scared to move forward and scared to go back. You lifted your eyes to the heavens and cried out for God in anger and in despair. You felt alone. You felt unheard. You felt unloved and you fell to your knees just as you are now but, you see, I knew the storm would one day come. I knew one day the tide would call you in. So I went in first to test the waters of suffering, to gain strength from the trials and lessons from the pain. It is why you didn’t see me for all these years. I was dusting the oceans bottom clearing rocks from your known path to ensure you were not inflicted beyond repair. I was twirling through the waters to find the spots that would not get any colder than you could bare. I searched the water’s across this world for the heavens above them that would be filled with the most stars so that you could always see a blessing and gaze upon something beautiful. I choose a spot where I could hide in the background and watch you from a distance while you followed your heart that would eventually lead you to me. I saw the moment your heart made the decision to fly. I saw anger rising from the enemy that you would soon prevail. I saw you in trouble, regret and failure had you in their hands. I came to surface and held your hand in prayer as you went under. I was there the moment you submitted into God’s will. I am your angel. Your guiding light, your gentle reminder that even in the storms beauty exists. Among the endless waves and pulling tides, peace is only a surface away. I am your rainbow, a promise that God will not give you more than you can bare, that He will bless you greatly if you simply float throughout the storms. You see my beloved, the storms are placed before you not to drown you. Rather to break you down to a weakness so that you must call on God’s name to be strong. The time spent within the hurricanes is too show you His power but more so His grace. The storms need not to be faught. No need to fight against the tides or tread water. Your God walked on water and parted the seas. You do not need strength or a life preserver, you just need Him. No need to fret or worry, just float. You do not need to see where you are going, even though your heart desires, you just need to believe that God will carry you exactly to where you need to be. Float and the tides from even the darkest storm will bring you home to shore. Just float and the tides will carry you even to that in which you cannot see. Floating has brought you to me. You are home”

As the words left her soul and parted from her lips the sky high above parted. Baby blue and streaks of lavender stretched across the sky. Hughs of pink and gold gathered around the glorious setting sun. The water’s edge returned back into the sea and the dampened sands lie dry and gold like glitter. She stood to her feet with a long ivory gown blowing freely in the soft winds. She extended her hand and lifted me from the sandy soil. I stood before her in awe and in thanks. My mind took time to gather expressions, sounds and smells.

I stood covered in mud and seaweed with dirt under my nails and scars upon my hands. I was torn and needed much repair. How could I stand before such an angel? I was undeserving and ashamed. My head fell for my eyes to stare at the ground while my mind sank into old thought. I shook my head. How could I accept something in which I did not deserve? Tears began to fall.

My angel bent down to the sand and dragged her finger across the crumbled shells. She drew a cross and said “My love, no one is deserving of the love He gives, love is a gift. It is given freely and expecting nothing in return, just as my love for you.”

As my amber ignited eyes rose in amazement, she smiled gently and said “FLOAT with me. You will never be alone.”

Her eyes filled with a million tears that appeared as green crystals scattered across the earths endless journeys that I would one day take with her. She placed her hand upon my shoulders and turned me to look once more at the open sea. She stood beside me as we gazed into the horizon of fuschia and amber and softly said...

“Let it fill you, let it inspire you, let it move you and surely it will also carry you. FLOAT.”