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."