• "This Side in Me" Poems

    A Rebel in Me


    Can I play the coward card?

    Toss the duties, flip off commands?

    It often plays in the back of my mind

    I never truly entertain such thoughts, but why do I do it anyway?


    God, help me kill the rebel in me

    Because she brews in me as a poison in a cauldron

    She fills my heart with uglies and devils

    She squirms and weasels her way through


    And I know she doesn't please You

    I wish to tame her, I wish to kill

    But truly she needs to learn her place

    Tame the tongue of ceaseless flame


    Destruction is in her ways

    She sets the timer to blow the world

    And as she does she twists her words

    She doesn't wish to have purity

    She disgusts the saint in me


    But won't you teach this renegade heart

    Who her enemy truly is, and send her to do her part

    Because I can no longer control her rage

    And I just want You to turn this page

    Tame this rebel inside of me!


    A Wretch in Me


    I know I once was a monster 

    Very few can say they've seen that side

    But, Lord You've seen it all

    You know my ways, You know my heart


    I know I was a wretch, gag-worthy, 

    I deserved Your vengeance upon me

    I was a coward

    No matter what they'd say otherwise


    All I want to know though is

    Is that past redeemed? Am I truly Yours?

    I feel like the memories that plague my mind 

    Now, would overcome me


    A Seeker in Me


    If I told you who I was

    I'd only know this to start;

    I love to seek for the good in things

    And adventure is my goal


    I know that my heart mourns of things

    In ways uniquely known

    A joy arrayed in His light

    To shine to the Hope of all


    I know that what calls me forth in faith

    Visions, dreams, music, and love

    Colours and sounds in the world

    I've often spoke with them alone


    I am a child who lives life in sorrow

    But, not all can even see

    I have a simplicity yet a mystery about my life

    That baffles the world and even me


    They call me odd, mad and stupid

    A fool, insane, possessed

    But, I prefer to call myself unique

    A mystery behind a veil


    I am like a corridor of puzzles

    Which has yet to be unlocked

    Each day I find something new and hidden

    And it comes to heal my heart


    So, essentially I am a healing detective

    I seek and venture through my world

    Can't stay in one spot for long

    For I long after spreading His word


    I love to travel and wish I could more

    I know my curiosity at times

    Breaks me down to fear

    But if I sought after the Lord again


    These words would be fulfilled in me;

    "The ones who seek shall find

    The ones who ask receive."

    Well in that light I choose to hope

    That Christ with bless the Seeker in me


  • A Bipolar Child's Prayer

    They say You care for Your children

    That their tears are in Your hand

    That You embrace the broken heart

    That You are our Comforter through the trials


    They say Your presence is ever here

    That You were, are and ever will be

    With us, all the way to Kingdom come

    That You are in and all around each of us


    But these tears seem so silly

    I’m crying for nothing at all

    It makes no sense that I’d despair

    Over something so small

    These wounds were small, but

    They’re inflicted all over me

    I know it might not just be this

    But the stress I bear is great


    They say Your love is great and reckless

    That Your grace is a violent storm

    That cracked the surface of time

    With the paradox of Your sacrifice


    They say that You are tender and kind

    That Your reckless love will embrace

    And hold a heart together, bringing healing

    To what has been broken, I am so broken


    Lord my mind is broken

    My mind has snapped in two

    I still am so unstable, with

    This depression that’s so strong

    My heart throbs and aches

    In my chest, its rhythm is somber

    And I long for a healing touch

    ‘Cuz I’m so weary of falling apart


    They say You care for Your children

    They say Your presence is ever here

    They say Your love is great and reckless

    They say that You are tender and kind

    So, here I arise and reach out for You

    Just hoping You’ll hear a bipolar child’s prayer



  • Do I Trust You?

    I trust in You, or so I say...

    Though I know You're just and true

    I always turn to my own ways

    You renew me if I abide in You

    But still I choose to disobey


    But, here I am, and there You are

    With open arms, You welcome me near

    But my heart is so very far

    Distancing itself beacause of my fear

    Blazing flame, my heart, it chars

    Flame hardens it, allowing me no tears


    It goes on agonizingly when I fail in my faith

    When I don't lean on Your truth

    And I refuse to follow You with my days

    So, I trust in You?

    Well, that's what I'm accustomed to say...

  • Fight You

    Well, that battle lost,

    dusting off and trying again

    The pain that it cost

    When I chose to go attack him

    Left us as bait for

    The enemy of our all souls

    Why did I do it?

    Why did I scream and shout at you?

    You forgave it all

    And then you say that Christ did too

    Still forgiveness seems

    Just too far from me and my sins

    I love you so much

    But I can never do it right

    If I ask God to

    Teach me to love like He did

    Would He do that much

    For me when I just cannot?

    Daddy will I fight

    You until the end of time?

    Because I don't want

    To be fighting you that long…

    When I know that you've

    Loved me despite all I've done

  • High-low, high-low! The Bipolar Life For Me!

    Hello, to all of you. I wrote this, yesterday to give a glimpse of my day to day existence. And I often create things that give you that glimpse as well. Should you want to find more done to express this I'd advice you to visit me on my blogs The Peculiar Tales of a Ragamuffin Warrior Princess#30daysofbrave challenge(on pause), and The Oneiric Ambiventure: How it Feels Project, and my journals on wattpad, and the Artisan Chronicles.


    What time is it? Where’s my phone? There it is. 2:30PM. Really have to get up at some point. No time like the present… Time to get dressed. It sounds simple to you, but for me, I have two chest-of-drawers one with 9 drawers and the other with 6… giving me 15 in total and there are just bandannas in the top drawers with books and mismatched socks thrown haphazardly in them. Maybe I can find something from the hamper that smells halfway alright? But no, I’ve worn almost all of the variations of outfits over 100 times. You may ask why don’t I just spend a moment to wash my clothes? It’s pretty easy to do that once a week right? Well, not for me. Why? I’m depressed. So I grab the outfit I wore yesterday, I’ve only worn it like 50 times, so it can last a little longer. And thus, I get dressed and onto day 8760 of the same war different battle…


    I’m nothing. I’m pathetic. I’m disgusting. Not worth it. Can’t do anything right…. I’m thirsty. I’m hungry. My parents would be better off without me. I’m not worth eating… Just water right now, then I’m lying down. I’m ugly. Not worth it. Am I even cared for? Is this even worth it? I get into a fight with my dad, and looking back on the fight it seems absolutely pointless. Our relationship feels like an unresolved argument… I try and try and try to fix it… I sit down and cry for a bit, Then through teary eyes I look outside and think that the afternoon is lovely. I need to stop being depressed for a moment. Music? Yeah, music…Take a short walk and maybe I’ll be better.


    And so I take a walk, jam to my tunes. Return all hot, sweaty, tired yet pumped. And I’m drinking my second cup of water. I leave to cool down and I get enough energy to take a bath. Change into my nightgown for the evening… Then it’s dark all too soon. Even though it seemed to partially silence the voices of self-hate to have taken a walk, bathed, and rested…. The feelings never left. And now it is the hour in which the memories of the weeks, the days, the hours that have passed…By the time I’m in bed I am weeping hard. Accusing myself that I should not be considered human. That I’m a monster. That I should die and nobody would care if I did…. Hold on til morning, I beg myself. You’ve got this…. This pain will end and the light will carry on.


    People see me smiling away. Manic, hyper and excited all the time. But even in the times I’m happy, these thoughts play in my head… I can have a an entire emotional roller coaster in one day… Most times these thoughts are there, but I hide it with my mania. I grin, and even I believe that I’m fine. But these thoughts will pop out of nowhere...And I ignore them with happy stuff. These things are not to I’m constantly depressed.


    But I can, even while manic, feel the shadow of depression hovering silently above me, basically grabbed a stamp to my heart and pressing it on me. Depressing word in manic colours… I will joke about it, I will laugh lightheartedly at it. And I will feel it in my happiness. But it’s not to say I can’t do work, that I can’t have fun, that I can’t laugh and enjoy my day. There are sometimes, rare though they are, that I will have the most fantastic day. Everything will be fine. I’ll go up until night time, happy and jovial…. Then I’ll crash in bed… crying hard. I do what I can. I try to force myself out of depression on a day to day basis. I laugh, I love, I live. I do these things and even then, I’m not always able to stop the tears. But I’m not weak. I’m not always broken. I am just a fighter against myself.


    Luceo non uro,

    Ari Joy

  • PTSD, Anxiety Attacks and Mindfulness

    God's timing is perfect. Sometimes it may seem like it isn't, but He is always on time, and I don't know why it amazes me.

    Yesterday, I came across a twitter post from one of the people I follow on my @LIGHTforMI twitter account.

  • Reflections, Part 2

    Last week I wrote about how the drama from my mentally ill daughter was affecting me. It was truth, and it was the nitty-gritty aspect of being in a family with someone with mental illness. However, I have to say that my post, although true, was written in such a way that it hurt my daughter. There are certainly aspects of the disease that are devastating to a family, but I want to emphasize that the characteristics of the mental illness that she suffers from is not her fault. She didn't ask to have this malady thrust upon her. And although stability is part of her responsibility, there are outside forces that dominate her ability to work on stability.

    When my husband or I think about running away, there is more than just each other or our youngest daughter keeping us from doing so. There is also the fact that Arianna NEEDS us. She needs our stability, our understanding, and our acceptance. No matter how we may feel at any given time about the burdens that mental illness gives us, we do love and accept Arianna for who she is, despite the mental illness that we despise.

    Perhaps we should focus on her many gifts, and how those gifts impact us from day to day. Perhaps we need to work harder on separating the symptoms from the rest of her being. Then maybe the burden I'm under will not be so great. There is always hope in the darkness. There is always light in the darkness. We just need to look.

  • Regrets of the Morn

    As the day begins, a shadow of remorse falls on me
    On a cool and grey September morning,
    The sky threatens tears that never come
    and here I'm left with my tears
    and the regrets of the night
    A throbbing shoulder and a burning arm
    Flashbacks of scarlet falls
    slipping from the slits in my skin
    I kneel on the floor and realize...
    I'm getting worse and the cuts getting deeper
    the music of depression pours over my spirit
    I'm another two years older and three more steps behind
    Am I left to die in the chilly day of mourning
    I regret the night and wish I hadn't...
    But here am I, left behind in a puddle of bloodink
    Bloody hands withdraw from my scarlet marks
    Tracing the words on the tile floor 'is this to be my end?'
    I no longer have control over this addiction...
    I've fallen off the edge and I am swept away in the rush...
    Crying out, "!"

  • Remember September

    Copyright (C) 2013 Savannah Hensley


    “Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” 

    ― A.A. Milne 


    The last time I saw you, you were angry. I was fighting for my independence, and you didn't understand - you though I was trying to break away from you. No, Emily, it was exactly the opposite. I would never have left you if it were up to me. That day, I was hoping you'd see it my way as Mom and I argued. But I guess I didn't get the message across, so you hate me now.


    I try not to remember that as our last day. It was too full of anger, bitterness, and misunderstanding. Instead I remember our last good memory we have of each other: the day we went to the park. That was the last day we spent as sisters, just you and me against the world like it had always been, and should be still.


    You were wearing your rainbow tie-dye hoody, and I was wearing my silly striped fingerless gloves. Call me sentimental for remembering such acute detail, but we stood out. We were colorful in a drab and gray world.


    We did something we always did when we came to the park: we "sang and swang," which, to the outside world, means we'd swing on the swingsets and sing, in perfect harmony like we always did. Those moments were ours...they were our last moments as sisters.


    We sat on rocks in the dried-up creek and recorded a video we planned to post on Youtube - something silly and random about the differences between girls and boys. The whole time I was throwing stones, trying to bounce them off a concrete slab that had fallen from the ramshackle bridge. Regrettably, I don't have that video anymore. Neither do you.


    We rode the merry-go-round and watched a teenaged couple, most likely in junior high, and made our own speculations on their personalities by the way they acted. The girl was a follower, one of those "jockettes" who wear their hair in messy buns and cotton headbands. She was typical, ignoring her little sister, who she was supposed to be babysitting. The girl you and I agreed on.


    We disagreed on the boy, however. By his cocky personality I assumed that he was nothing more than your average jock: not very intelligent, relying merely on his athletic prowess to impress his girlfriend. But you begged to differ. "He's like Peter Pan at heart," you said. "He doesn't want to grow up. But he has to because if he didn't he wouldn't get accepted. He has to pretend."


    And then you said, "You shouldn't judge people so quickly just by the way they act. Take some time to watch them and find out who they really are, because when they don't know you're looking, they're not trying to hide anything from you."


    I took that lesson to heart, and I'll never forget it; it's come in handy quite a bit as I meet and talk to people out here in the real world. In fact, I wouldn't be married right now if I hadn't. But you? I don't think you even took your own words to heart.


    I did my best to teach you something that day, too. You didn't know it, but I knew that this would probably be the last time we'd have together, before I left and everything changed. See, I knew you then, and I still know you now. I knew that when I left, you'd never be able to forgive me. We would never be the same.


    While we walked back through the woods, we took pictures of each other in the late summer scenery, and we talked. I guess we talked about all kinds of things, but mainly, we talked about Daddy. How he used to be such a great person, but now he was somebody else because he'd grown bitter. "I think his main problem is that he took too much time looking out for everyone else, sacrificing for them, worrying about them. He never did anything for himself - but it's not bad to be a little selfish now and then. He gave away so much of himself that he didn't have anything left, so now there's just this shell of a person that used to be."


    And I warned you, too, that you were far too much like Daddy and could become a female copy of him if you weren't careful. In fact, you were already becoming that. You made your life everyone else's so that you didn't even have a separate personality. You made yourself a hero on a pedestal you didn't even belong on.


    I knew I would be the straw to break the camel's back when I left. I wish it didn't have to be that way, Emily, I really do. I knew you'd put it on yourself and you'd make yourself believe that I left because you weren't "good enough." And then, as messed up as it is, you would blame yourself and hate me for it.


    "Just remember," I said, "When I do grow up and leave, I'll still always be here for you - I will always be your sister. That will never change."


    But you didn't remember. You forgot. That entire conversation went down the drain the next day when I did leave. The last time I saw you, you gave me that hateful glare and spoke bitterly. I don't remember what you said - not that it matters. I don't even remember what I said. Because that day, for me, didn't end our sisterhood. It only ended our friendship.


    Wherever you are, Emily, I want you to know that I will always be your sister. You've cut me off, you've betrayed me, you've said hateful things to and about me. You don't even believe that I care, or that I ever cared. I do more than care. I still love you. And I will be waiting for you to need me again, no matter how long it takes for you to remember my promise.


    Love, Jennifer.


    Dedicated to Bethany 

  • Restless Soul

    Another late night of restlessness

    Waking hours, filled with fears

    Tormenting dreams fill my sleep

    I’ve given up trying to be healthy

    I’ve given up all my hope

    I’ve given up trusting in my Lord



    Staring at a glaring brightness

    Typing on the keyboard

    Apathy. I care no more

    About living life here in general

    I want to give up breathing

    Every breath I take brings heartache



    “Just pray, listen without speaking,

    And go to bed!” he says

    But try as I might to sleep

    Even when trusting in the Word of God

    The ache in my heart is still

    Very real, fear makes me want to cry



    Where’s the beacon of the promise

    The signal of Christ's love?

    My rainbow after the rain

    That beautiful bloom from the ashes?

    That joy through the pain of life?

    Christ promised abundant life in Him…


    So, then why? Why am I here in the dark?

    Why do I still suffer in the pits?

    I say amen and it’s still lonely, empty,

    And really hard to believe…

    Where is the promise?

    Where is my Comforter?

    Oh Lord, where are You now?



    The words of the cynics call me faithless

    But I’m clinging to You as tight as I can

    Because this ailment I have in my mind

    Affects my spirit so very greatly…

    Where does my help come from?

    It comes from You, my Lord, my God

    Will You help me mend from all my ills

    Comfort me in this seemingly eternal night

    Until the suffering ends at the Golden Gates


  • Skyscraper

    I am below looking at myself on the top
    And I'm above looking down for your help
    I never knew it would come to this threatening drop
    But I am on the edge ready to jump to the end of me
    I'm out of my body tearfully begging for me to think
    To use the reasoning and wisdom to turn away
    And to pull away from the deathly brink
    Of shadows' ownership of my soul's desires
    Standing on the skyscraper of my disease
    I feel that all hope had been stolen away
    My pain and fear makes the enemy pleased
    So that is my push to stand up again
    If only I took a step back and beheld the view
    Of the sun breaking through the morning mist
    I would realize that God is here and true
    But would I dare to look up and see the beauty? Or would I just jump off the edge?
    A revolution of light could break right through
    If I boldly said enough is enough! I could stand up right beside you
    And I'd be filled and fear nothing in life or death
    The skyscraper is a turning point in all lives
    Dare to die or dare to live, the choice is up to you
    Life is compiled of baby steps and long strides
    And yes, even falls... But remember that we can overcome!

  • Someone Help

    Their shrieking laughter scares me to hide
    This burning and blazing flame eats my heart away
    I cry in the place where I'm cornered in the dark
    Just a child, but they don't care... in fact it pleases them
    To see my terror and despair throwing me down at their mercies
    And my tears streaming down my face, and burning eyes
    Encourages more enthusiastic torment at their hands
    When blood spills from their efforts they cheer their victory
    I cower with arms protecting my head, when they leave
    I barely receive time to finish cleaning my wounds
    For when I lay down for my time of sweet slumber
    They come back then with a renewal of horrific nightmares
    That makes me awaken, dreading the day...
    When will this battle ever end? When will I be able to recover?
    Will I even survive the next wave? Or will I wither before it's my time?
    I'm too injured to stand and fight back... I'm too weakened to be strong
    I will do anything to rise again, but what if that anything kills me in the end?
    Someone please, help knock me back in the fight
    Someone please, help me be courageous
    Someone please, help before it's too late!

  • Supposed Suicide

    Copyright © 2015 Mari Fahel Mckimzey


    It happened so suddenly

    I hung myself to die

    Cracking my neck;

    Breathing my last;

    Dangling in the eyes

    Of a young 13 year old


    It happened before they could

    Stop me; alas, a child

    Has seen her sis

    Die before her

    The argument was wild

    Now she has PTSD


    I, now stand before the Throne

    God is seated in grief

    He gazes down

    In deep love asks;

    "You with little belief

    Why did you spit on my face?"


    Shaking in fear and sadness

    As my God asks again;

    "My child why did

    You spit on my face

    To right now have been slain

    By your hands you took your life?"


    I wept hard and responded

    "Lord I could no longer bear

    This life with all

    Of its trials so I

    Took my own life to where

    I would not suffer again..."


    God revealed everything that

    I threw away, showed me my

    Life got better

    And the ones who loved me

    I saw purpose in His eyes

    That had been transferred to me


    Then I finally knew that

    My life was not as dark as

    I made it out

    To be; then I cried out

    With pain in my heart "alas!

    Oh Lord please forgive my wrong!"

    He answered in grief, "I do.


    "But you had to see what I

    Had planned with your life when I

    Created you;

    And molded you in My

    Image; see the many eyes

    Of those you were destined to

    Guide; it grieves me you threw it out

  • The Big 3-6-5

    Yesterday marked my first whole year from cutting! My parents put a lot of effort into a 3-course meal and dessert to celebrate also taping a $15 iTunes gift card too!


    In a tight time in our finances, I know this was an expensive meal, and appreciated this all the more. The whole thing touched me so much that when I left the room, I was crying a little.


    Thankee, mum and daddy. You have no idea how much this touched me! I love you both!


    Luceo non uro,

    Ari J Schaffer

  • The Last Rose

    Copyright (C) 2013 Savannah Hensley


    "He gave her a dozen roses, eleven real and one fake, and he told her, "I'll love you until the last rose dies."" 


    Hope closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp scent of the February snow. She always came here, to the walkbridge over the river, to calm her beating heart and to clear her mind. For there was a decision to be made today that must be the right one, as it involved her future.


    In her gloved hands, she held two roses. The rose in her right hand was a silk rose, elaborately crafted to resemble a true blossom fresh off the bush - it was even faintly scented with sweet perfume. The rose in her left hand, however, was a real rose, given to her not even an hour ago. The two roses symbolized the love of two men whose hearts had been pledged to her, and since she could not go forward in life with both of them in her hands, she had come to the bridge today to drop one in the water.


    The silk rose had been very dear to her for nearly four years now. It had been a gift from her first love and high school sweetheart, Zachary Cliffton, on a day where she had nearly given up on life. She had been in the midst of her parents' marital issues and abuse from her father, only to have her boyfriend - her one rock in a shaken world - tell her that he needed time to decide whether he wanted her or not. And when he approached her with a dozen roses, telling her that he would love her until the last rose died, her heart nearly broke under the heavy burden. But, once she had gone home and arranged the roses in a vase, she realized that one of the roses was silk and would never die.


    Symbolism had always been very important to Hope, because she dearly loved to write her own stories and often believed her life to be one of them. The silk rose had been treasured and kept in a safe place, even when she and Zachary were forcibly separated by their parents for three years. In the times when her father's abuse was too much and she was nearly ready to give up on the world, she needed only to take out the rose to reassure herself that someone somewhere still loved her and gave her a reason to live. The silk rose stood for a love that would last for eternity.


    Yet, after four years, Zachary had still not come to rescue her from her father. In fact, Hope had had to rescue herself; for the past few months she had been struggling financially until she was taken in by an older woman she met at the local domestic violence shelter. Zachary apologized over and over, continuing to promise his undying love, but the simple fact was, he wasn't there for her. He was hundreds of miles away, in the state of Michigan while she waited patiently in Indiana for his return. As a result, Hope had begun to lose faith in him little by little.


    The real rose, although not so precious to her, was a symbol all its own. It had been given by Nathan Kingsley, son of the woman who took her in. Now, Nathan certainly hadn't been in Hope's life quite so long as Zachary - little more than four months - but in that short time he had proven himself far more than Zachary had in four years.


    Tears came to Hope's eyes and slid down her cheeks, falling over the bridge and dropping into the icy waters below. It hurt to remember the many long nights she'd spent crying in her room, needing nothing more than someone to hold her, comfort her, and dry her tears. She'd wished for Zachary. But instead of Zachary, it was Nathan who came into her room at night to stay with her so she wouldn't be alone.


    Besides, the rose Nathan had given her was real. Maybe it had an expiration date attached to its life, but it was a flesh and blood rose nonetheless. Hope realized that now she must come to terms with the simple fact that Zachary's rose was nothing more than a cheap, sorry imitation of true love.


    Perhaps the love Zachary offered would last forever. But Hope wasn't a girl anymore. She couldn't live off of fairytales and promises. She needed something real, something tangible, something now. And true love is not unconditional. It is not easy. It is something that must be fought for every single day. Hope was a woman now, and a woman needs the love of a man, not of a boy.


    Nathan was here and now. He'd already proven his love was true. Though he had always known her heart belonged to Zachary, he patiently waited with his offering of love and had never turned away. She needed only to accept the token of his love, nourish it, and cherish it, to make it last forever. Hope now knew there would always be doubt, but true love takes work - and most importantly, blind faith. If she took the time to preserve this rose, it may be delicate since it would be dried and easily crumbled; but she need only protect it, and it would always and forever stand for reality, not a dream.


    Hope took a deep, shaky break and closed her eyes. She had made her decision. "I'm sorry, Zachary," she whispered to the wind, and gave the silk rose one last kiss. Just like that, she let the rose slip through her fingers and fall down, down, down to be taken far away by the waters below; and the real rose, Nathan's rose, she tucked in her coat to keep safe.


    Dedicated to my husband, Cole Hensley. 

  • The Reflection's Plea

    I know this girl. She's so lost. She runs. She hides. She's so afraid. Her problem that many do not see is she's armored herself up with lies. For years, compelled to lie as her defense. She cries to me every night, in the bathroom, "I do not know myself anymore." She says to me in the portal of my unseen kingdom. She no longers knows herself. Tears stain her pale face every night, and her red puffy eyes sorrowfully stares at my own mournful look. As one we ask the one question on her heart, "What is truth?"

    I so hurt for this girl, stowing me away in a corner. The past she wasn't willing to see making the border I was not to cross. Together, we made a wonderful team. I was the joy she'd not allow herself to have. The lover she'd not allow herself to be. The healer she'd never be at this rate. "How long?" she asks me, but that was my question to her... How long was she to run around like a dog chasing her tail? The answer is not elsewhere, we know it together. But, she pretends to have not ever seen what true love is. Those bloody eyes from gouging them out could not be seen by her, she thinks she sees. But, I know better... the busted eardrums spilling forth blood, she thinks she hears, but she can't.

    As one, we hear the heartbeat making one subtle cry, "...Help me...Help me...Help me... We're drowning in lies... We're drowning... help." Who will hear our heartfelt cry? Who will heed us? I can no longer reason with her... her mind is wild and raging. A fire that has no control... the forest is threatened, the creatures run... and men, women, and children are trying to put it out... But to no avail... The girl we were as one is gone. And only ONE can help us now, if He will ever heed our cry.

  • The Source, The Engineer, and the System

    Inspired by: Jonathan Thulin & Rachael Lampa’s “Bombs Away”

    “Thank you for purchasing your life insurance policy. All we ask is that you keep your lifeline untampered with and always connected. In the rare event that your connection is compromised… the consequence is death.”

    A woman and a man held hands together in a union. They smiled at each other then, looked up at the light above them, casting a small surrounding light in the room. They sat in the silence and serenity of being connected to the Source.

    Until they felt and heard a knock on the door. And in the moment, they saw a friendly Cyborg smiling at them, slyly. He came to their side and silently handed them a plan, with a concerned look.

    “The Source is using you.” he whispered in their ear, “The Source fears what you can become… let me help you… You shan’t perish…”

    The couple looked to one another with confusion and the looks on their face made one united decision. They looked up at the Cyborg and nodded in unified moment… The last they’d ever see. The Cyborg smiled at this silent thought, as he strut behind them, and first he grabbed the lifeline of the woman and yanked it from her heart-port. She gasped and felt her chest and confusedly stared about. Then to the man, he yanked from his heart-port. He stared about then the woman and the man’s eyes met in disgrace. The Cyborg stripped the lifeline and threw it before the couple.

    The room shook like a furious quake of passion and wrath. “What is it that you have done?”

    The man pointed directly at the woman, as she held her mouth and tearfully cried, “The Cyborg deceived me…”

    The Cyborg looked up at the Source in fear as he spoke directly to him “You are futile. I send you down to the depths. There will be one engineer to terminate you. You will be shut off and he will be bruised on the heel.”

    The Cyborg fearfully and in outrage tried to make an accusation, but before he could he was cast into an automatic pit. Silence reverberated in the room. As the man and the woman stared at each other in shame. The Source’s light had to be shut off and they were cast into darkness…

    3000 days later…
    The man and the woman attacked their insides, looking for anything to refill them… malware and more filled their minds and hearts. And their days slowly faded into memory. Until… one day as, one they cried out

    "System Error: Spirit Overload. Initiating termination."

    They stared at the ground with closed eyes, covering their ears. Falling, once more, on their faces, getting back up, screaming, cutting out, glitching, re-screaming, again and again. In a unstable implosion of emotions. They hit, one another, one hit after another.

    "System Error: Emergency Shutdown."

    Once the shutdown was made, they bowed their heads. They were now, two robotic and metallic skeletons. "System Error: Searching Connection. Searching Connection. Searching Connection…"

    3000 days more…
    “...Searching Connection. Searching Connection. Searching Connection…”

    An Engineer walked over to them and touched their faces. They deathly gazed with blinds over their eyes… as their lifeform flickered back on to look at him. He fixed them up and helped them to stand.

    “System Invasion!” they shouted at once, but the Engineer did not make a move to stop them, they attacked all at once. He allowed them to tear him apart, as the Cyborg came around the corner with his controls. The Engineer fell to his face and moved no more.

    The Cyborg came up behind the robots and smacked them hard to the floor, “Look what you have done. Think about it… His hands were there to help…”

    He vanished in one leaps and they cried… The woman reached out to the Engineer and held his hand as the man kicked her. She screamed in anguish, “Come back! Please, come back!” She cried her plea.

    “System Error…” she spoke , “Initiate automatic shutdown…”

    The man and woman froze as robotic skeletons, once more.

    3 hours later…
    The Source revived the Engineer. Who rolled over and saw the robotic skeletons once more, standing, lifeless before him. He got off of his feet and fixed them up once more and grabbing a new wireless lifeline and hooked it to their heart-ports. They stood up straight and spoke in unison, once more;

    “System Error: Connection Complete.”

    They looked to the Engineer who commanded; “Do not be tempted by the Cyborg anymore. You are free, with a spirit of courage. Of love. And of a sound mind…Your bounty has been paid.”

    He left the room and left the door open, as he continued to walk. They followed…

    2000 days later…
    “And we are one and still free. Looking for the time we will in eternal peace with the Source.”

  • Well-Intentioned Words


    Well, I have been thinking about the fact that many of my friends have been telling me that they believe God can cure me of my mental illness. And I know this is well intended, however I'd like to emphasize that just because God can do something does not mean he will. Sometimes, God uses these flames (illnesses) to sharpen us in his forge.


    Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. 8 Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. 9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 10 That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.


    ~2 Corinithians 12:7b-10

    In reality, I have found that people telling me that God can cure me from my mental illness does nothing to encourage me. It makes me grieve. For I was given this thorn the day I was born. Many people speak of the many people that Jesus healed, raised from the dead and preformed miracles. But sometimes the miracle is a person who is not healed instantly. It's the person who carries on through all their life with the same thorn that keeps them humble and relying on God. My thorn is my illness. And it is also my tool. I am able to relate and have compassion on the ones that are like me because I am there too...




    Something I'm learning about following God, is trusting that He knows what He is doing. Following Him should never be about expecting everything to be fixed. There is a process and sometimes the scars remain. We are in a body that can scar on flesh. And our minds are connected to that flesh, because the brain is just an inner flesh... It scars and is as broken and unbalanced as the outer flesh... Sure we may pray for healing. And healing will come. It might not be in the way you expected or wanted, but it comes... and one day it shall be complete and if you acknowledge Christ as your Lord you will experience that full a completed healing in Heaven.



    "Prayer shouldn't be about God 'fixing' things, but God being present in the midst of those things."


    ~Rev. Nowell Copley

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