“Wrong is wrong even if everyone is doing it. Right is right even if no one is doing it.” ~Saint Augustine Of Hippo
“God isn’t done with us yet” ~Pastor Sunday Easter Service
Just a shell walking in a lifeless form, a mannequin with barely a beating heart. Flat line waiting for the paddles, nothing could rattle my covetness for my numbness slathered
Dormant my personality lied, the zeal suppressed with alcoholics hallucinate hands. Reside in my own cell, an alcoholic hell. Sit in my own sin, wallow in my trademark venom
Never could pass the test, and any zest I may have had was laid to rest. Idolized the moisture of my enbrieated state. Filled with hate
Fools gold in that bottle I held, meld into my skin. Personfied allibi, fake beyond each disguise. Lost with each sip, lucid goes as I got hosed
Swam with the sharks. Ravenous, blood thirsty. Needed that alcohol to occupy my soul. No holes, just bury all my secrets in my skin. Soak it up, let it be my end
It was my first thought upon waking the craving pulsating, and trampling my brain. It was the last thought upon laying my drunk head into a blackout state, death hovered
This was the alcolohic me, numb me. Take away the pain for just one more moment. I hurt so bad inside. No where for God to reside. Hibernated, and bathed myself with my poison. My soul took cover, and demons hovered. Lurking in the night, I became as dark the tonic I drank. Rank with stank
Crippled by my own hands, hardened heart. Selfish, drowning in my own spite
Feeding off the juicy lies that came as day turned into night, and night turned into day. Spiced it up, made stuff up, my life was but a lie. Hiding in my bottle, this was the alcolohic me
No more hiding, no more numbing, no more running. For Jesus salvaged the wreckage I made of my life. Gave me hope, and took away my craving. He took my heart, and transplanted it at the cross. Carved my name, where His body hang in death for me on Calvary
Laid the bottle down, and now I am unmasked and even somewhat vulnerable. For the love, laughter, and life I have now I would never trade it for a day of desperation lost. For I was off the grid, but now am found. In Him I abound. My masks are no more, my smile is real. In Jesus was my appeal….pathos no more, joy so surreal. That character no longer resides, for I am alive and set free of the dark cage of lifeless air suffocating me
I love you, Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. Psalm 18:1-2
I can’t remember a time when we were not about thrive, it was a pep talk into perseverance because our daily was one more bolt that was about to be stripped. We had a bag full of all the bolts we vanished its divets from. Repeatedly trying so hard to screw them back into place. A rivet away from homelessness
So co-dependant it would make ill sick, how we pushed for so long I still don’t know. We desperately clung to our 19 year old selves. We had faded away in youth, just as morning faded into night. Swindled by our on sight, it was time to grow up. Yet we didn’t
Pretending we became so very good at, a tea parties delight. Dressed to the kilt with all the latest of gadets. When the rent came do we scrambled to have it. Looks can be deceiving. Dress up a family of four for all to adore, and they will not see famished rising from within. Covered skin with name brands to no end
Even tried to abide as much as the crisp cool dark that we had encased ourselves in would allow. Upon these moments a fire fly here and there was all the light we could muster. Running with dark like a wolf, the angels always trying to get back hold of our then bones we were so scathed from false pretense
I can’t remeber a time when we were not about thrive. It was who we were. How we would come upon the monies to pay the next bill in wait. Ever heard of this thing called a job?!? The bible quotes a man who does not work will lack bread for his table. This was no fable. Did you ever really get a look at our seating for four. What was missing, a feast yes that was one. If you looked further you could see our kids jeans hanging from wasted waitslines their weight melting away from lack of nourishment. There was no flourish, we had not much left of our remains. Dig the graves make them ready, for we are barely going to make it
I had already said my goodbyes to all that tried to make way for health. The wealth we wrapped ourselves in was a farse. We were a travesty. Take off your tapestry you will see we are empty
Empty your pockets of only lint. Even more vacant were our hearts. For we had long resided elsewhere. We had no longer a barring even Gorilla glue would not do. We were beyond the fix. We were beyond charities hand. People had caught on, fraudulent demeanor. No pity, for we dug ourselves into a slimy pit of ruins. Living in ancients past, I feel sorry for our story is a really badly written county artist song. Not melodic in the sing along. In fact turn that crap off
I can’t remember a time when we were not about thrive, did you honestly think we would survive living like that? We were just a moment away from the loss of it all. We had been laughed at, and seen as fools. All our schooling went on the wayside for we were always trying to thrive. We never were about DO!! You think the two don’t walk hand in hand? Fools
We did not survive we are now casaulietes of our own demise. I can’t remember a time we were not about thrive. Maybe if I was to blame credulity I could say, but I know it takes to two to make a mess of a life that was one. I see this today with much clearer vision. Not gullible to my part, and I guess we both should have seen there was nothing that could keep us from falling apart. Spiritually ill makes for clean kill.
Praise God for His forgiveness reigns down from above, at the cross I found myself weeping for forgiveness, and asking for His unconditional love for all of four of our loss. Regain our spirit, and renew of hearts soul. Lord God save us, make us fragrant with your shed blood for us. Allow us to see the dove take flight, and once again reside in your light. Years later I thank you for I believe you have worked circles in miracles of at least three of these lives. Prayer, and fervency of thy will not mine. For my Lord God His love is divine. He has restored the years I allowed the locusts to eat away. How great a God is He
Written for the Word of the Day challenge: pristine
Porcelain doll, so dainty and fair. How long have you been sitting in there?
High upon the top shelf of the lit curio cabinet, I see you are scatched and dirty
You are definitely a sight Amoungst the reburished dolls, they are so pretty. Gleaning white. I bet you were just as them at one time, a doll makers delight
Your eye sits out of socket, you’re a little twisted in your posture. Not beyond repair, I see you sitting you are not beyond my stare
Porcelain doll, so dainty and fair. How long have you been in sitting there?
I imagine with all the dust fallen in your hair, it has been awhile. Your not groomed or styled like the rest
I bet you are one that holds much value, and history too. I can see my hands taking great pride in you. A new stiched outfit, your hair with a soft curl around your little face
I will buff you, and shine you back to your prime, and put you back in place. Antique, you are. Priceless, I as a doll collector I see your value. I look pass the grease smudges on your face. I see you white as snow in its place
When my hands are finished with the making of you new I will place you back upon the top shelf. You will no longer lean on the one sitting next to you. You will stand with elegance. Every eye transfixed to the top shelf, where you are no longer tarnished
Porcelain doll so dainty and fair, look at her skin glowing white, almost translucent. She is near perfect. Her cheeks soft pink with matching lips too. I wonder who takes claim, who’s hands does this doll belong too? Famous hands I trust with the look of that of a near perfect touch
Pristine his hands, and face gleam at the new work His eyes see
White as snow, white as snow, thought my sins were as scarlet,
Lord I know, Lord I know, that I’m clean and forgiven.
Through the power of Your blood, through the wonder of Your love,
through faith in you I know that I can be
white as snow.
being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion
Photo Credit me; I have always thought I looked like a doll in this picture. I am poised in a doll like fashion. My head tilted just right, and my face dolly like. My skin fair, and face with a hint of pink. Likened to a doll, how neat. I bask at the change in me from my makers hands. This is not what my portrait would have resembled a few years back. I neeeded reassmbled. For my maker to make me clean, and place in back in my rightful place. He did that indeed!!
I can’t be forgetful of where I came from, always mindful my will must be aligned with God’s in the bridges of this life. Bridges will always be part of life. It is my choice with which whom I walk them, and I choose to walk with God hand in hand
Two bridges in the same State Park. One is a man made structure with beams, and construction materials for support. The other is made from the land we hiked. With limbs from trees, and branches. Both unique in their beauty. Like that of the bridges of life. Some are made by others structurally sound for the crossing. Some are a walk of faith. Each step creeks with forward movement. Yet we need at times to cross them both. The beauty in that of the bridges of life. Never be to quick to burn a bridge, for the rebuilding may not come to pass. Hike the bridge, like you hike through life. One step at a time, one foot in front of the other. In stride…maybe with a friend by your side. Mine is God He walks all the bridges of life with me, hand in hand
Photo Credit me; Riverside State Park. Spokane Wa. Hiking the massive terrain. One on a beautiful summer day when the trails are endless with hikers detours left and right. The other on a brisk winter day. The bridge of branches covered with frozen snow. Both beautiful in their own right. Both walked over, and we made it safe to the other side..
This is also part of of Cee’s https://ceenphotography.com/2022/04/12/cffc-wood/
Extrovert by nature, I don’t need the bottle to articulate. I am just a happy go lucky person, and the grass is greener where I now reside. No need to hide
Was scared to be sober. Felt booze was always in order. Needed it so I thought, I actually am better without a drop. Goofy I am, and even goofier as sober I stay
I am outgoing, and bubbly it just secretes from within naturally. God has rescued, and revived me in the clarity I have daily. I am a better person dry
I am not in need of that toxic waste, it fooled me into thinking I was better off with its vibrance seeping from within. No need to wet my soul with the bottle of old
For today is yet another day goofy, and authenticity reigns. I do not have to fake it to barely make it. I am alive, and free without that dreaded bottle to cling
Extreme has always been my person, for I am an alcoholic. We thrive off of drama, and chaotic ruins we wade in. The differance is with my Lord and Saviour, I don’t have to dwelve there
Held captive no more, goofy is as goofy does. Laughter is my new step. I lept into the arms of my gracious Father. For there I find sobriety, one day at a time. Sober fun is easy, less dramatized too. I long since changed my shoes, and was made brand new
Bid the bottle adieu, and dry I will stay yet another day. Less complicated is this barren land. Free of muddy tear stained puddles, made by me. Thank you Jesus for setting me free!!
Free to commuicate without sloppy, slurring words. Absurdity no more. Goofy I adore! Sober is me! Intention-ally me!
“As long as you are standing, give a helping hand to those who have fallen. ~ Toby Mac
Free write using the https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2022/03/26/flask/
My hand used to be heavy with a makeshift flask, whatever I could do to get my hands on my poison to then drink it deep within my skin. Absorbed until it wore off. The first sense of any sensationalism I would repeat. Oh how neat my life seemed, inside screams of hallow cries for help then gulp. No more. I was fine again like a broken record I still played. So I drank as long as the needle still dropped, and I couldn’t hear the screech once I poured. Alcohol I adored
A tattered water bottle always in hand thinking I was fooling you, fooling me what was red and looked like Gatorade was really wine. Oh and I was fine, just fine
My hand was always heavy with a makeshift flask I drank so heavily I was deaf and driven by the rage I felt so deep, shaky hands and blood scorned breath
A broken bottle opened upon the sidewalk’s edge drinking the moisture from the bottle just enough to get my taste buds aroused, then I would drink it fast and hard. Enough to make me blind, deaf, and dumb~NUMB
Misery lurked inside that makeshift flask, but I just couldn’t feel enough your asks. I didn’t care to be your friend, nothing could compete with my plastic flask. I buried all my secrets with each sip, camouflage with what resembled rage
The air around me was a cage, I was shackled to my own incomprehensible demoralization. Lost in my blood stained sin, progressive it was always rage again. Crazy was the game, and I was always ready to play
Today I don’t carry that makeshift flask. I surrendered, and was set free. My Lord Jesus rescued me. The cage was opened, and out came the fragmented pages of me. I realized my powerless over that toxic drink. I couldn’t drink just one, and 100 was never enough. I couldn’t, He can, and I knew I needed to let Him. Jesus took me in, even though I spat all over Him. He is that gracious, and good
I surrender myself to this beautiful life of sobriety one day at a time. Knowing I have to do whatever is suggested of me. The air around me has changed, my five senses are clear set afire. I see the most beautiful things I used to take for granted. I see the most vibrant of colors, and smell. No more self made hell
There isn’t enough as of today to get me to wish to go back the other way. My life is beautiful, and I love being able to feel. I don’t have to hide my makeshift flask. Traded it for the hope I carry proudly for all to see. No more hiding for me. I am alive, and I am soaring high on eagles wings shackles fell beneath me long ago
God did for me what I couldn’t do for myself. I will always share my experience, strength, and hope! My life is dope, and not the kind you shoot into you veins. It’s dope with the gift of sobriety, and the miracle of life that sits here writing this today! God reached in, and shook me to my core. Spiritually ill no more! I today am not that alcoholic horror
Free of my makeshift flask heavy in hand. My feet are on dry land, soil wet with seeds to be turned with the tools I need to keep me from having to pick up that next drink. All contingent on my spiritual house. God Has my will and life today, this disease is progressive so my prayer is for this I stay
“We weren’t created for time we were created for eternity.” ~Ken Ortize
“Hope arouses, as nothing else can arouse, a passion for the possible”. ~ William Sloane Coffin Jr.