“This house of ruptures could hold no more!”

After saying goodbye to my earthly father I sought
One to replace him. Due to the traumatic experiences of childhood,
a part of me. . . . [my inner child]. . . and I became confused, as if there was not
just one but two of us in conflict, seeking comfort and peace. The turmoil
kept me in a state of emotional distress, ready to succumb to the fiery flames
ready to consume me!

The foundation is weak, seeking its own level, rusty pipes
leak, joints creak. Red climbing roses speckled with paint
from decades of neglect has had its effects. The attic bares
the burden of this house of ruptures, storing baggage in rafters.

It is full and ready to blow, it has capacity to hold no more. I am
hesitant to go in, but that’s not strange, I left long ago! It was
too much for me, I split in two, leaving my child, a part of me
behind. But she followed me in my thoughts. In my dreams I
could hear her cry, in my nightmares she would scream. I can
bear it no longer, I have to return to claim what is rightfully mine.

Reaching in, pulling her out, now with me she shall remain. With
such weight, beams crumble, into the house falling. A soft glow of
orange erupts into red tongues of fire, consuming the rooms. A gust
of wind fans the blaze, until little remains but ashes and dust.

A few childhood remembrances that survived. The sole of a shoe that
once held my foot, now covered in soot. My pink dress smoldering in
cinders, a doll looking injured, with charred eyes and lips, her hair on
edge with scars on her head.

A book with singed ruffled edges opened to a nursery rhyme –
“And all fell down.” I am astounded!
Walking through the rubble, I see what trouble the
neglect of this house has caused. Sitting amidst ashes, tears begin
to fall, this house had been my body, the attic my thoughts. I really
didn’t want to leave, I did not know what else to do. If I had stayed,

I would have lost my mind. This house had been deserted, intertwined
with ropes and beyond repair. The pain it bore, tore a hole in my soul.
It must be restored, hinges and doors must be replaced, as well as
windows and doors. Who will do this, I must have Help? Thus the
search begins!

This poem is from my book ‘Weeping Child To Forgiving Child’

A sequel to ‘Love Letters To Daddy’
After saying my final goodbye. . . .

. . . . He then faded from my memory, as I began
to draw a picture of how I remembered him, until
my inkwell had become almost dry with the trace
of his image. My brush became heavy, the colors
became dark, until I was exhausted and I finally
gave up. He became nothing, as if he had never
existed, leaving an incomplete picture of a new Father
that must be created in my mind!

“It was You who took the churning waters billowing on the face of the deep.
In the darkness of swelling waves, crying aloud with
groaning pains waiting to give birth and be delivered. Before You spoke your Word

“Let there be light and life”* my existence was in Your thoughts. You patterned
my form when there was none.
A seed plunged into an empty womb, two beings creating a separate being as they
embraced in a moment of bliss. In an instant You wrote my life in indelible ink.
The beginning of a tiny infant is immersed in the embryonic fluid, my heart begins
pulsating life. Your plan for me is skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth!
But who am I to question why I was cast into circumstances beyond my control?

The chosen vessel carrying me is frightened, as her only awareness of life is of
abuse and neglect. Her thoughts permeated into my small mind, knitted
together, as sinews and flesh are fashioned about my tiny body. Engulfed with
her memories of long ago. While the blood racing through her body feeds the embryo
with a frightening adrenalin rush. I have to wait in that darkness just as the seed must
wait for the nurturing acts of God to bring forth life. I am called and reluctantly enter this
world. My first glimpse of life is not pleasant to my childish nature. I question as Job –

“Why did I not perish before I was born?”* A wall of separation comes crashing down
planting its steel bars into the chasm of the earth, culminating in an abrupt interruption
of time. You have said I must become as a little child, must I go back to the very
beginning of conception? Must I have the mind of a babe unmindful of its surroundings,
content to exist in each stage of formation?

If I could only shut my eyes and reflect on
the innocent mind of a child bathed in quintessential peace and tranquility. To be freed of these scattered thoughts. Ones that take me captive to another world of doubt and uncertainty,
quenching the Spirit and nullifying the goodness of God. I am helpless to know the answer
to these questionings, it is as if I were being drawn into a darkness of which I am powerless.

But perhaps this dark night of the soul has a purpose and a reason. That I need to embrace this
darkness, as the nocturnal labor pains of life experiences bring awareness of a Father that
has recreated the image of the one left behind!”
*Book of Genesis Chapter 1
*Book of Job Chapter 3:11

Come close child, today will be our summer day
to laugh and play!
We will spend it together – visiting the sea – jumping
the waves – until the day has passed into the realm of
dreams – and deep – deep sleep fills our sleepy heads!

In a series of ‘A Father’s Day Reflection’

Letter #5

Well Daddy, here I am one more time, but I’m getting closer to the end of writing
these letters to you!
I mentioned before, I had had a difficult time, when I looked to God I saw a picture of you, and couldn’t get it out of my mind.

You know we had no values, nor religious ties, where it came from
I didn’t know at the time. I was confused and didn’t know what to do.
It struck me out of the blue with petrifying force, undermining the
very foundation of my being, already in a fragile state of grief and
fear. Tormenting thoughts brought me to my
knees, one thought was connected to another, forming a great circle.
Then I began to buckle with dismay as words came up from the
rear, forming a loop with a whole new group of words and numbers
pressing on my brain, with chains that squeeze and defy.
That’s what OCD and Scrupulosity* do!

As a rule the tools of psychology should work and maybe for a moment
they do, but like butterflies in my head, their wings never fly as high again.
I know this is difficult for you to hear, but after much help and many years
Daddy, it got better. Well I have more one more letter to write!

*The definition of “Scrupulosity’
Obsession with moral or religious
issues, a form of obsessive compulsive
disorder (OCD with a religious component)

Into the world of therapy and recovery…

There needed to be a reconciliation!

I had to recreate an image that I imagined

in my mind, the one as a child that I had

developed, one that was

unhealthy and deceiving. Why I loved my

father deeply, when he was not around,

and when he was he was inebriated and

unavailable, I don’t understand. It was

now time to recreate a healthy Father image.

I have written a book called

‘Love Letters To Daddy’ letters that had

to be written before I could let go of the

old and grasp the New…

~~~

A Father’s Day reflection

Good morning Daddy, its your little girl!
It has been many years, do you remember me?
I have come to visit. I’ll just sit here by your side,
it has been such a long time since you died!

It is so quiet and peaceful. I see an image
of an angel guarding your grave, it is quite
strange,
I don’t know why this would be since you really
didn’t have any
angelic virtues that I could see. But I like reading
your name upon your stone, it helps me know you
really did exist.
Well Daddy, the ball always seemed to be in your
court,
you called the shots, you always seemed to be the
la-la man, having fun.
Tipping the bottle on the poker table with your
friends.
I wonder why I have given you free rent in my head?
Going through life believing what you said?
I thought you held the keys, and if I could please you
enough, I would be alright.
I know I have written several letters and just when I
think I have written enough, other things come to my
mind!
So I will write a few more letters, since these things are
cathartic and lessen the pain.
And perhaps this
child’s dark night of her soul will have a purpose and
a reason to help
others who question like I… Then that makes it alright!

Love Letter #1 in a Series

June brings remembrances of fathers. I find myself having memories of a father of
long ago. At least once or twice I remember sending a letter over the years to the
resting place where he was buried. Come to find out, I’m not the only one who has done
this. It is quite common for others to do it as well. I’m not sure what the caretakers do
with the letters. They may open and read them, then dispose of them, or maybe they don’t
bother at all.
Much later in life I have written letters calling them, ‘Love Letters To Daddy”, working
through emotional issues of an absent father. I had to put them together slowly, there
was no way of hurrying the process.

Daddy, you were bombed last night!
Walking into the kitchen the
morning after, light reflects you
in the breakfast nook, as I quietly
enter to see if you are alright.

You are hiding behind the newspaper
and unable to notice your daughter.
Alcohol vapors sting my nose, you don’t
see me, as if I don’t exist.

Oh Daddy, you were the one
with the clickity-click-click of the
tongue and the crazy songs you sung.
Where did Mama go? I think she got
tired and left.
I remember her pouring water from
bottles down the drain, but it had
a funny smell, I couldn’t really tell.

Who is this strange lady in our
house, the one wearing a blue
negligee, you both swing and sway
from room to room, then pass out
on the bed.

Sounds of heavy breathing are
alarming, I am confused and don’t
know what to do.
Viciousness in the kitchen the day
you staggered across the kitchen
floor.

A pressure pot of beans exploding
on the ceiling sending you to the
hospital reeling.
I begged you not to drink, but you
once again began to sink, I’m sorry
Daddy I made you drink.

Well, my visit with you is almost done
and my time is spent, I will soon be
sent away.
Really Daddy, will you send me back
to those abusers and their evil ways?
Aww, please, why do you let them
do this to me? I really don’t think I can
take much more.

Oh, don’t make me leave, don’t make
me go back to that smelly shack.
Your pungent smell of vinegar, cukes
and alcohol are better than that.

But my pleas were ignored, you were
just too sick to have me around.
That fifth of whiskey made you awful
thirsty hiding the bottles in
cabinets and drawers.

Remember how you swerved on those
LA freeways, taking me to the bus,
without a sound between us?
The roar of the engines and exhaust
fumes making me sick, carry me to
a place I would rather not go.

Finally climbing the steps, crying,
unaware of the effects on an innocent
child from no where.

Well Daddy, I remember these
things whether you do or not, so I am
writing these letters in hope to be
freed of the pain that was caused!

“Love is like wild flowers, it’s often found in the most unlikely places!”

Yesterday, walking along side a road in the high desert, I came upon a sight that was a surprising and refreshing act of kindness. I hope whoever did this knows what a blessing
they have shared!

Again reading from the ‘Book of Ezekiel‘

Ezekiel 37:5,6

“Bring my dry bones together, cover them with skin and I shall live again!”
In our desert experiences in the land of
seemingly death, as trees devoid of life, our dry bones are without skin and breath!

“The hand of the Lord came upon me in His Spirit, and set me
down in the midst of the valley, and it was full of bones…
and behold there were very many in the open valley and indeed
they were very dry. And He said to me . . . can these bones live?
So I answered, “Oh Lord God you know… prophecy unto these bones
and say to them “Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord” Thus says the Lord
God to these bones ” Surely I will cause breath to enter into you
and you shall live!”

* * * * *
Lord, only you and I know what it took to get
to this place on earth, earnestly seeking the right
way to go. With tightness of stomach and
tension of muscles, every fiber of my being
disrupted, constant motion creating
commotion.

Oh Lord, put me back together
again. Knit me together with the same needles
used in my mother’s womb. Bring my dry
bones together as you promised long ago
.
And as you fashion me, help me to know the
pricks and punctures from your needles
are only for my growth. When it begins to
hurt I promise I’ll try not to cry, but if I
do my tears you will dry. And please
remember to use your thimble, for I know

it hurts you more than I. When your
children are hurt your precious Son feels

also the pain. And when the needles are
placed in your pin cushion to rest , cushioning
the blows for your children below. A
stitch is not taken unless it is needed. This is
enough for now and all you will allow.
When you see I am becoming unraveled
and its time to pick up your needles once
more, pour your oil on my wounds with the
Salve from heaven!

Light had turned to darkness that day, petals of brightness slowly faded away, in seclusion they hid, as their Father appeared, asking the question – “Where are you [my children]?” Genesis 3:9 –And down
through time His search for His children has gone through the earth, spoken through His servants – Noah pleading with the people to hear, that the flood would not take
them away, to Jeremiah, the Weeping Prophet, searching for God’s people with

the same question “Where are my children?” But they would not answer, placing him in a pot of boiling oil, for his beseeching cries. And many more men crying to God’s people with the question “Where are you?”

In my last post the Prophet Ezekiel, was used by God using
prophecies. . . .signs and symbols to dramatize God’s message to a an exiled people! Some verses are very graphic, in Chapter 16 –
Relating a beautiful story of God’s love, in search of His people. . .

Beginning in Verse 1 – And the Lord came…Saying

“Thus says the Lord God to Jerusalem. . .

Your birth and your nativity are from the land of Canaan…

As for your nativity on the day you were born, your naval

cord was not cut, nor were you washed in water to cleanse

you, you were not rubbed with salt nor wrapped in

swaddling clothes, no eye pitied you to do any of these

things for you, to have compassion on you, and you were

thrown out into the open field”

“And when I passed by you and saw you struggling

in your own blood…I said to you in your blood,

“LIVE!’ Yes I said to you in your blood “LIVE!”

“I made you thrive like a plant in the field, and you grew

and matured and became very beautiful…But you were

naked and bare. When I passed by you again . . .I spread my
wing over you. . . And you became mine, washing you
in water. . . I anointed you with oil and clothed you

with fine linen and covered you with silk, I adorned you

with ornaments, put bracelets on your wrists and a chain

on your neck, and a jewel in your nose…Your fame went

out among the nations…But you trusted in your own beauty”. . .

[Having need of nothing, going about your own ways!]
And once again God searches for His children
with the question “Where are you?”

One day I was listening to the radio, and the song
– ‘A Horse With No Name’ by ‘America’
was playing with it’s many lyrics –

“I’ve been through the desert on a horse with
no name. . .
After two days in the desert sun. . .
A river that flowed made me sad to think it
was dead”. . .
These words reminded me of the beautiful story
of God’s search for His children in the desert
wanderings of His people through the ages, portrayed
by the Prophet Ezekiel – Chapter 16!

Even down to our time, for all who are
singed with troubles and fire in their desert
experience, God in His love searches for us never
giving up!


A metaphor of words and images in the form of a poem came to my mind –

Hooves pounding on the clay baked ground!

The child playing among the reeds on the river’s edge!

 

A voice is heard in a desolate land

“Oh Ezekiel, what do you have to say

of this man, one that is searching

for a child among rocks, stones and

burning sand?”

There is a desert under a blazing sky

where serpents lie. Cacti hide a tiny

wren, it’s wings singed from the noon

day sun, never flying as high again.

All is still, but for the horse and its rider

moving faster, its hooves pounding the

clay baked ground.

On the first day of his journey, no child

was found and in disappointment turns

his horse around. With an empty heart

and far from blest, even though he did

his best.

He could not remove the picture from

his mind and returned to the desert one

more time. Searching far and near, a cry

in the distance spurs him on.

With the brim of his hat to shade his

eyes, looking on the desert floor, in a

pool of blood in a pocket of sand, he

hears a child’s cry again.

Lifting this baby to his saddle side, with

his hands its tears he dries.

Cleansing with water and oil, removing

clothes dirty and soiled. With newness

of life the child arises, it is given a name

no longer living in shame.

The desert is turned to a river bed. The

wren flies high again and with joyful song

it sings.

Living waters flow upon the earth, bidding

the child live in a land with no more

dread.

Playing among the reeds on the river’s

edge, no danger will come from the adder’s

den, for there is no more sin.

All things are new because of this Man’s

Redemption Plan!

Continue reading “The horse and it’s rider…” →