Inner Healing

The Compass, The Clearing & The Cabin Found

/ Rebekah Brackett / 1 Comment
{The clearing and secluded cabin in the woods}

The inner compass has gone awry; it spins in dizzying circles. I cannot seem to get my bearings in the middle of this deep wood. I smother panic before it consumes, placing one step in front of the other, despite path unknown.

I wander until I come upon a small clearing with a pond, beautiful and haunting.

Love once lived here. Presence lingers through Space and Time, palpable, undeniable.

It is all so familiar; the wind creaking through the oaks and poplar, singing through the pines and hemlock, is a song my soul once sang, even as I am a stranger here:

The heart once known, always knows.

The dulled inner compass lurches to attention, spiraling in excitement, then pauses; I feel it click back into place, red needle locked once again toward North.

But it is not pointing in the direction I expected.

I look around, bewildered despite the beauty.

Can one ever trust again a compass compromised by relentless outside magnet? A chill runs up my spine; the unseen force draws near, pulling, overpowering and overwhelming all practical sense of grounded direction; this compass has become unreliable.

Frustrated to the point of no return, I reach into the depths of me, pulling the compass and its attached bloodied and bruised heartstrings out; I fling it across the depths of dark water, seeking some sort of clarity, unburdening and relief. It all sinks down into oblivion.

I sigh, my soul still weighted, heavy, somber.

I look for the sun, craning my neck in every direction — I should be able to see it now that I’ve found this clearing from out of the dark depths of the forest; I trust it would offer me some outside source of direction, but it remains hidden, clouded, enshrouded. I cannot move forward in any direction without fear of becoming even more lost. I am already so estranged from what my soul knows as home; I am aching for it with every fiber of my being. If only I could find the way back! But there is nothing more to do at this point; with my inner compass gone, I must wait until the skies reopen and the sun speaks soft and clear to me.

Here I stand; and here is this place set before me:

The mirrored, black pond waters and the ghosts who glide silent beneath the surface edge; the thick, hovering fog and valley mist obscuring detail, diluting these surroundings into simple shapes and forms; the surrendered trees of Winter standing by, raindrops dangling, hanging heavy from forked, bare branches; the forest floor damp with fallen leaves who once were lush in Summer’s prime and thrill; dotted distant evergreens, resolute in their tender, faithful watch; close knit mountain laurel and rhododendron nooks neighbor there nearby, harboring shifting shadows across the way, whispering secrets of some passionate past beneath their bent, crooked boughs; moss and lichen and Time’s swift passing cover any fingerprints that might have ever wished they could remain; and turning, last I see, much to my great grief and shock, resting there upon the knoll — a hidden cabin, forlorn and empty, a place once filled and lit alive by dreams. It peeks out now from behind chaotic mounds of out-of-season wild roses and prickly black raspberry bramble, barren; piles of disintegrating logs meant for warmth and merriment crumble beside slight concaving walls. The roof, poor neglected thing, is nearly collapsing in upon itself. The secluded cabin sits silent, still, bereft, abandoned — but somehow? Somehow, as I stand here waiting, lost, forlorn myself, I know this forgotten place has been left here, waiting, too —

The sun breaks through, shining bright, illuminating all around. He smiles down, tender-eyed; the morning dew glistens with glee. In a moment, in a twinkling, he speaks his message to me:

Oh, sweet soul — don’t you yet know?

Your compass brought you home.

— Rebekah Brackett

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Journal Entry: 30 September 2021

/ Rebekah Brackett / Leave a comment

It is the last morning of September. The whirring of mountain crickets and trilling of birds mixes with cool air as I rock in my chair on our deep-set front porch. The glow of mid-morning feels alive, resilient, popping the cheerful goldenrod as it dots our field with Autumnal whimsy. My heart aches to enter in, to feel alive throughout every part of me — body, mind, soul and spirit.

Our barn kitties, Clive and Tasha, are exploring a few yards from where I sit with our Bernedoodle, Sophie, sprawled at my feet. The light breeze tickles the melodic wind chimes and flaps the Stars and Stripes hanging from the porch. It never ceases to bring my heart to wonder, the sounds and sensations of nature enveloping me when I pause to pay attention and tune in.

Clive dashes with lightning speed up a locust tree, balancing on a high thin bow, before turning and scuttling back down. A moment later, Tasha is showing off, climbing even higher, as if to say, “Let your momma show you how it’s done!” I laugh to myself as I watch them play, their athleticism filling me with awe. I imagine what it might be like to have that same prowess, that calm confidence and determination in the face of great heights. The next breath, my heart feels a sense of apprehension, for I am a person who fears heights of most any variety.

I flash back to childhood, to the apple tree in our front yard which had a three-pronged branch at the tippy top that held itself like an outstretched hand. My younger sister, Rachel, would finagle her way up the swaying branches and sit proudly in the little natural “seat”, peering down over her kingdom — a large green field spotted with glowing yellow dandelions between our house and the neighbors’ and her big sister’s small, nervous face. I’d stare up at her through the rustling leaves, heart racing with fear intermixed with longing, desire clutching my chest to experience that adventure and freedom. If I could only make it to the top, I’d break free from the terror I carried on my back that weighed me down into my own personal nightmare. She melded with that wide open azure sky and the frill of late Spring’s pink and white blossoms, her long chestnut hair blowing about her innocent face as she giggled and squinted down at me. “C’mon!!!” she’d chirp. I’d stretch for the lowest hanging limb, still high above my head, making conflicted attempts to jump and grab hold of that first rung toward freedom. My hands scraped raw, my legs weak and jittery with anxiety, I’d eventually give up and stand at the base of my dream, worriedly telling her to be careful. She’d laugh and stare out at the wild world, one with nature, submerged in the present moment. I felt so alone, so ashamed, wishing I could figure out how to overcome the subliminal effect of fear on my body and mind. To this day, I carry a deep regret for the fear that held me back, and long to climb the crest of that tree and sit among her branches, free.

Coming back to the present moment, I say in earnest, “God — free me from my fear,” and I recognize as I whisper this that He is faithful to do it, for “Perfect Love casts out fear.” However, the ways in which Love works to bring this about are not always as easy as climbing a small apple tree. He aligns my path with someone difficult, with a situation that requires vulnerability and humility, with a scenario where the Unknown is markedly in my face like the smack of harsh Winter wind on bare, reddened cheeks. Will I still press forward with courage and grace, despite the inward flinching to turn back? We pray these earnest prayers for an integral shift in the softness of a moment, ungilded, enveloped in a sense of moderate safety. The inner ache of the hidden heart surfaces, like a gentle doe entering a serene meadow from the edge of dark woods at twilight. She is watchful, careful; yet the beauty of that open space tugs at her breast. She takes a risk in order to experience delight. In these moments of awakening, we are exposed, and lean in to the invitation to own our weaknesses, to hold them up to eternal hands much more capable than our own. We will be set free and move into a greater sense of wholeness one way or another, and it often involves hardship as much as lessons learned through ease. I think Spirit partners with us in these tender moments of awareness so our hearts are soft and open to Love, to learning and growing, to the evolution that is sure to come through subsequent pain and heights of joy and the quiet tasks of mundane living. We don’t get to fully choose how the fruit of our spirit is developed, but we can choose our attitude, outlook and the principles which will be our guiding compass in the ways we handle uncomfortable and trying times, as well as the summits of success and joy. Despite the stretching and pruning that is sure to come, despite the tentacles of fear throughout the layers of me, somewhere within, I know I can rest in the Gardener’s tender care of my soul.

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Contemplating Life At Forty: A Look Back and A Look Ahead

/ Rebekah Brackett / Leave a comment

Two weeks to 41…and I am contemplating the journey thus far. 

I can say these forty years have held much beauty and much pain. I have loved and lost, been devastated to my core and gotten up again by the grace of God. I know what it means to find sacred treasures in the seasons of “the dark night of the soul.” I understand the symbolism of the dying and rebirth of the Phoenix, and have stood in that holy fire multiple times. Sanctification for me has been quite the process; I so often feel the remaining dross heavy upon my heart. So be it — this is part of the mystery and glory of “becoming” as a human being making her way Heavenward. I am prone to failure, and God in me is helping me press into the practice of forgiveness and the miracle of Love’s undoing and refining. I also know the unfurling, blossoming joy of receiving good gifts in the abundance of Light and thankfulness fills me for these times and gifts. Truly, favor and goodness have chased me down all the days of my life (Ps. 23); yet at times, I have rejected their gifts and wisdom because of lies I believed about myself or others. For the part of me that has held onto regret and shame for my lack of understanding or the foolishness of my pride and wrong choices, I forgive myself. I am learning, I am growing — at times with quickness and strength, at other times, with fault and much in need of pruning — but at all times, with great yearning to become who God dreamed I would be if I would say “Yes!” to Him and receive. I have reaped mountains of blessing and benefits from the prayers offered by my ancestors and countless others who have deeply loved and cared for me. I have fought to right the unhealthy things passed down. Mistakes have been made, grace has been showered; I am learning to release what was and what might have been and move forward. Often I have wondered about the inherent self destruct button I seem to carry inside of me; but, I rest in the faith that Jesus is the ultimate Healer and Dismantler of traps set and atomic bombs placed inside us by lies, trauma, poor choices, the angst of deferred hope and imbalances within the soul. We don’t come out of the womb hating ourselves; that is taught to us, engrained by hurting people who themselves were deeply wounded. Compassion and empathy are such beautiful facets of Love as a remedy to these plights of our human experience, as is forgiveness and grace. Patience is a key as well — a character trait that I am at last beginning to learn, albeit slowly. Love is patient, kind… Love brings to life; even in and through pain. The end result always reveals what Spirit was at work. While I have often stumbled, as a small, unsteady child learning to walk with bruised knees and skinned hands, it is my hope the tenor of my life will show Love’s guiding hand through and through. It is my desire I will grow to stumble less and run hard after Love in a way that brings life to my own soul and to that of those around me. 

As I look back and look ahead, it is my fervent prayer to become steady and beautiful as “strong corner pillars sculpted in palace style” (Ps. 144:12), confident in my true identity as a beloved child of God and upholding His Kingdom with delight and honor where He has planted me; to embrace all parts of my created being, with the willingness to change as gently lead; to partner with God for abundance of life and passion of calling; and to learn even more fully what it means to love the Lord my God with all my mind, heart, soul and strength, and my neighbor as myself. Love is the beginning and the end. For the places and ways I haven’t loved well, I ask forgiveness, would seek to make amends and strive to do better in the future. For the places and ways I have not been loved well, I will seek to extend forgiveness and mercy, as I would want to be shown toward me in my failures, and move forward with hope and love in my heart. This is all we can really do. It is a daily process; it is a practice we learn; it is the cleaning of the heart we are invited to do in order to live a more fruitful, healthy life. 

I am more determined than ever to step into the Light, to choose joy, and become the woman God has called me to be through discipline, the pursuit of His heart, acceptance of what “is”, even more truthful acknowledgment of my weaknesses and need of His unfailing grace so that my foundations are strengthened and wounded places are fully repaired and restored, as I press forward into more abundant life. 

I don’t know what dreams will come true, or what dreams may shift and morph into something altogether new. But, I know I trust Love and Love’s desire for me when the inner storm is quieted and I can hear His life-giving, gentle, beautiful whisper clearly. I know and believe God’s heart toward me is good. 

All in all, I am so grateful — for all of it; the suffering and the joy have taught me much in these forty wild years. For those of you who have walked with me in the darkness and in the light as dear, compassionate travel companions, I am forever grateful for the blessing you are to my heart and life. I have needed your presence, and your friendship is even more precious now — for community and belonging is where our mutual healing occurs. And as we heal together, the world begins to heal and Heaven is made manifest on Earth in a tangible way we all can see and celebrate. What beauty and wholeness is ours for the receiving and for the extending! It already lies within. For those I know and extend love to from a distance, I hope our paths will one day align so we can know each other more and discover the unique surprises our alchemy creates. You, too, are a thread woven in my life; you matter, you are seen and I am thankful for you. 

So here’s to the next chapter and the ones after that! In Christ, no matter what, we have the beauty of a happy ending. This is the truth I hold dear. ❤️

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Snow-Day “Stoup” Recipe

/ Rebekah Brackett

In between a soup and a stew, a “stoup” has enough broth to add nuance and flavor, but allows the individual ingredients to shine in their wholeness.

One of the benefits of gardening and canning is the gift of vegetables and fruits available throughout the colder months, and adding these gifts from our garden in conjunction with other store-bought ingredients can boost the authentic homemade goodness you just don’t get from a single can of soup.

This “stoup” turned out so beautifully for dinner last night, we’re chowing down on it for the second day’s lunch AND dinner! It’s the perfect snow day comfort food. 😋 Another plus — keeping leftovers overnight adds to the flavor, and you can easily toss in some other ingredients to change it up enough to give variety for the following day’s helping. It’s like a living gift!

My husband and I were both exhausted from a long road trip to see my side of the family for Thanksgiving, and don’t think those frozen DiGiorno pizzas in our basement freezer didn’t call our name!🤣 But, good nutrition is worth the bit of effort, and this “stoup” is as easy as it gets, folks. We hadn’t been to the grocery store in a week, so I combed our freezer, fridge and pantry for available ingredients, and the result was nothing short of surprisingly delicious! Here’s the recipe from our kitchen to yours; feel free to add or subtract as your tastes dictate. You can substitute different veggies, beans, and meat, but I highly suggest you keep the wine, bacon, butter, lemon and freshly-grated Parmesan.😉 Happy eating, fellow foodies!❤️😘❤️

••• SNOW-DAY “STOUP” •••

3 Tbs. Amish Grass-fed Butter

1 Large Onion, diced

4 Garlic Cloves, minced

3 Small Carrots, scrubbed well + thinly sliced

2 Celery Stalks, scrubbed well + diced

2 Cups Summer Squash, chopped bite-sized (Fresh or Frozen)

3-4 Large Handfuls of Baby Spinach, roughly chopped

2 tsp. Poultry Seasoning or Herbs de Provence

1/4 – 1/2 tsp. Coriander

Sprinkle of Ground Cumin

Sprinkle of Cardamom

Sprinkle Rubbed Sage

Sea Salt + Fresh Cracked Black Peppercorn

Canned Goods (14.5oz – 15.5oz unless otherwise noted):

2 Cans Diced Tomatoes, with liquid

1 Can Whole-Kernel Corn, drained

1 Can Great Northern Beans, drained

1 Can Dark Red Kidney Beans, drained

1 Can Whole Potatoes, drained + diced

1 Can Chicken Breast, drained + chopped

1 Small (6.5oz) Can Mushrooms, drained

1.5 – 2 Tbs. Better Than Bouillon Chicken Flavor

2.5 Cups Boiling Water

1.5 Cups Dry White Wine (We used Cupcake Chardonnay, and it was a fabulous fit!)

Juice of 1 Large Lemon, squeezed into stoup at end

4-6 Slices Thick-Cut Applewood Smoked Bacon, cooked separately in 425 degree oven until perfectly crispy, then chopped up with sharp knife and crumbled on top of stoup

Fresh-Grated Parmesan Cheese

Fresh herbs, chopped (like flat-leaf Italian parsley if you have it on hand)

1 Cup Barley, cooked separately (*In separate pot, add 1 Cup of barley into two cups boiling water and pinch of sea salt; cover and cook on mid-range heat, stirring occasionally, for 10-12 minutes, or until liquid is cooked off — add cooked barley to individual bowls first, then ladle stoup over it… If you put it directly in the stoup and don’t eat it all in one sitting, the barley will soak up much of the liquid, FYI)

••• DIRECTIONS •••

In a heavy-bottomed Dutch oven, melt butter and add diced onion. Sauté until soft and starting to caramelize. Add celery and carrot, stir and cover for a few minutes until added veggies begin to soften. Add minced garlic, good sprinkle of salt, a few grinds of fresh-cracked black pepper, herbs and spices, and allow flavors to meld for a couple of minutes. Add Better Than Bouillon to the pot, then add boiling water from kettle (or just bring the added 2.5 cups of water to a boil in the pot). Stir well. Add all canned ingredients as noted (you’ll want the liquid of the tomatoes in the stoup, but everything else gets drained — no need to rinse), and the fresh or frozen Summer Squash, stirring and allowing mixture to come to a low boil to heat through. Add chopped spinach and wine, stir to combine. Cover and turn heat to low-medium, allowing flavors to meld for 5-10 minutes. Taste and add any additional salt and pepper or other herbs as needed. Add juice of one large lemon into pot and stir. Place 1/4-1/2 cup hot cooked barley into each individual bowl; ladle stoup over barley. Stir to combine. Top with crumbled bacon and a generous portion of freshly-grated Parmesan cheese. If you have fresh flat-leaf Italian parsley on hand, feel free to add that as well. Serve with warm, crusty French bread + butter or crackers. Bon appétit!!!

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“A Driftwood Story”

/ Rebekah Brackett / Leave a comment

by R.L.B. Brackett

"Driftwood I" | Brackett Studios
“Driftwood I” | Brackett Studios

I was cut down,

Severed

Sawn

Shattered —

Drifting

Aimlessly

Driven

Pressed down beneath the torrent 

Thrown up to the surface

Torn asunder

Wrecked in the violence

Of currents and 

Saturated in saline nightmares.

Or was it all an adventure,

One that was misconstrued 

Misunderstood,

Mistaken?

"Driftwood II" | Brackett Studios
“Driftwood II” | Brackett Studios

I was living, green, verdant

I base my assumptions off

Roots grown deep

In fertile soil

Before the axe struck me down.

"Before the Fall: A Driftwood Story" | Brackett Studios
“Before the Fall: A Driftwood Story” | Brackett Studios

Was it fate? 

Was my beauty so captivating 

I was wanted for tables and chairs

Practicality

Instead of leafy, poetic repose?

Could they not have found rest

Beneath my dancing bows?

"Leafy Repose" | Brackett Studios
“Leafy Repose” | Brackett Studios

Or was it lightening

Striking its mark that splintered me —

A crash no one heard or cared to discern

In the distance

As I careened toward hard dirt, 

Arid, hungry for the rain,

Gobbling it down as I

Slammed,

Cheek-to-cheek

With the dust from whence I came?

Either way —

I do not remember.

"Driftwood III" | Brackett Studios
“Driftwood III” | Brackett Studios

I have floated, adrift,

For eons and days and years —

The darkness of night 

And blinding of noonday

Erasing my memory

Of the cool groves

And shadowed lands

I once inhabited. 

"Driftwood IV" | Brackett Studios
“Driftwood IV” | Brackett Studios

And now, here —

I have come to rest

With other survivors:

Douglas-fir, white birch, and red-cedar,

Stripped,

Surround my carcass.

Perhaps I am not alone

In my pain.

"Driftwood V" | Brackett Studios
“Driftwood V” | Brackett Studios

Yet, I lie in solitude. 

Destitute. 

Embittered and forsaken.

We are all alone,

Separate.

"Driftwood VI" | Brackett Studios
“Driftwood VI” | Brackett Studios

And then, there she is —

A girl, a woman, a faerie sprite —

Camera in tow,

Gait easy and gaze focused;

Has she seen me lying here?

(If you talk with Driftwood, you just might be a Four on the Enneagram) | Brackett Studios
(If you talk with Driftwood, you just might be a Four on the Enneagram) | Brackett Studios

She arrives, comes closer,

Gushing 

A torrent of emotion

A wildness in her heart beating fast

As she declares me beautiful —

A miracle,

A fascination,

A work of art:

A love affair

Begins.

"Driftwood VII" | Brackett Studios
“Driftwood VII” | Brackett Studios

She edges closer,

Dancing fingertips over 

These sun-dried bones,

This desert stranded on Pacific-Northwest beach;

She shrieks in pleasure,

Finding peace and comfort

In my myriad scars.

Do they not echo her own?

"Driftwood VIII" | Brackett Studios
“Driftwood VIII” | Brackett Studios

Her eyes draw tears

At my silent suffering;

There is a pause —

A moment of silence,

Hallowed.

She is praying.

She is praising.

She sees Elohim in me.

She perceives glory in the 

Ghost of me

"Driftwood IX" | Brackett Studios
“Driftwood IX” | Brackett Studios

And I realize —

Perhaps my story 

Continues

Extends

Begins again

Through the eyes of wonder

Through the speechless awe

Of witness:

She sees me

As I see her.

"Driftwood Contemplation" | Brackett Studios
“Driftwood Contemplation” | Brackett Studios

I once was,

I survived

And am

Reborn —

"Driftwood X" | Brackett Studios
“Driftwood X” | Brackett Studios

As is she.

As are we.

Early Morning: An Invitation

/ Rebekah Brackett / Leave a comment
"Early Morning Beckons: Be Still A While" | Brackett Studios + Homestead
“Early Morning Beckons: Be Still A While” | Brackett Studios + Homestead

The quietness of early morning has a different feel from any other time of day. It feels fresh, new — like grace upon grace is available and no mistakes have yet been made. There is a calm and comfort in that morning light; a hope and a peace that today has every opportunity to be a truly great day. 

"Morning Stillness" | Brackett Studios + Homestead
“Morning Stillness” | Brackett Studios + Homestead

I love the joy of morning rituals in each season. In Winter, there is the waking under heavy blankets and fluffy down comforters; finally crawling out of bed to throw on a beloved, worn cardigan that has just the right cozy factor, like a favorite blanket held captive by a particular two-year-old; slipping on my ancient LL Bean moccasins or comfy Uggs and padding downstairs to stoke the remainder of last night’s embers and load up the wood stove with a fresh supply of locust logs; turning on the kettle for my first cup of Earl Grey tea and smelling its lovely bergamot notes in the crisp kitchen air as I place the leaves in the happy handmade pottery; singing a little ditty to Jesus while the water bubbles and boils, as I wait with anticipation for the warmth that will come to my body through a steaming mug in my hands and quick sips of hot liquid goodness on my tongue, sliding its heat down into my empty belly and warming me from within; writing my morning pages on those days I am intentional or curling up with a current read under a dove grey cashmere blanket on the couch that needs to be replaced but is oh, so comfortable… The mornings my husband is home, our routine can be different; he checks and loads the stoves; he makes my tea and brings it up to our bedroom, and I look at him through sleepy eyes, sitting up and reaching out for that perfectly hot mug while still snuggled under the covers. We laugh at my wild bed head and chat about the weather and plans for the day. Either way, the mornings are good. Quiet. Calm. But, far too often, I reach for my phone and get distracted by emails, social media, the news… And I’m recognizing this isn’t how I want to begin my day.

"Morning Lights the Kitchen" | Brackett Studios + Homestead
“Morning Lights the Kitchen” | Brackett Studios + Homestead

This week, I have jealously blocked out time for a personal spiritual retreat — a time set aside to reconnect with my heart and with the God Who knows it even more intimately than I do. A time to dream and write, read and pray, paint and take walks; to sit down by the creek bundled up in blankets and listen for that still, small voice — of my own heart and of my Abba; to purify my mind and attend to our home from a place of peace, continuing to cultivate a space in both which induces rest; to sleep or nourish myself or soak in a steaming bath in candlelight — to seek God’s face throughout the day and night in dedicated worship — which may look like those things I mentioned previously or dancing alone or singing or painting or cooking or washing laundry or scrubbing my floors or sitting still in patient expectation — whichever way He leads, without judgment or religiosity; to be fully in the flow with His wild, untamable Spirit… To practice Sabbath in the truest sense of the word, setting aside time that is separate, holy, dedicated to intimacy and rest; to seek and claim shalom for the weary parts of me; to rouse up the sleepy self who prefers distraction instead of discipline… To allow myself to be quieted by His love and attention, and to give Him the parts of me I have withheld.

"Morning Fire Duties" | Brackett Studios + Homestead
“Morning Fire Duties” | Brackett Studios + Homestead

I feel a tug to turn off my phone; to step away from the noise of my busy social circle as well as the social media that so easily distracts and sucks away hours of my life through scrolling and “liking” posts in an effort to connect with others and combat moments of loneliness. This stepping away will take discipline; reaching for my phone has become a nasty habit, like biting one’s nails or complaining — it’s done subconsciously and perhaps innocently enough — but it’s still unhealthy. And I want health — in my spirit, in my mind, in my body. So, hopefully you won’t hear from me over the next few days! 🙏🏻  (If you reach out through text or comment on my posts, I’m not ignoring you — I promise!😘)

"Morning Meditations" | Brackett Studios + Homestead
“Morning Meditations” | Brackett Studios + Homestead

Here’s to carving out time for the important things. Because life is a gift, and each morning brings with it an invitation to waking — true waking — and to practice awareness and intentionality in setting up our hearts and minds for the miracles awaiting us in the day ahead. Life is full and overflowing; we get to chose what will be our focus or distraction. Mindfulness is wisdom. Let’s pay attention to where our time is invested — is it going where you want it to go? If yes, celebrate! If not, seek to create a solution. Some ideas might be to turn off social media notifications or remove the apps altogether for a bit; hire a helper to support your parenting time or a cleaner for bigger weekly housework projects or a trustworthy office assistant to whom you can leave things so you can intentionally step aside and connect with your heart and mind in a way that’s meaningful to you. Hold yourself to what’s important to you; it’s so easy to be swept away by all the stuff that doesn’t really matter. Push the “reset” button — and do it unapologetically. Life goes on just fine, even when we pull back for an hour, a day or a week. We really do create the life we live. This week, I hope to get clear on what that full, abundant life might look like moving forward and how to proceed in pursuing my deepest longings and dreams — and, to delight in the God Who so passionately and unequivocally loves me and feel His delight in me. Now let’s get this retreat started! Catch y’all on the flip side…

Love and many blessings,

Rebekah

Catching Up: The Year in Review – Part I

/ Rebekah Brackett / Leave a comment

 

brackettstudios_appleblossoms-1.jpg

“Apple Blossoms” | Brackett Studios

So much has happened since my last post… Much to my surprise, an entire year has flown by without a single peep from me on this blog. I have, in fact, been writing my heart out – just not posting much of anything publicly. This has been a year of intense transition and finding our “new normal”; a year of profound growth, curious exploration, joyful celebration and devastating loss. I’ve missed sharing my heart in this format, and thank you, dear reader, for hanging in there with me when I retreat and go silent instead of simply putting my heart out here in trust, courage and vulnerability. So here we go, my friends… Grab a cup of coffee or glass of wine; we have some catching up to do!

~~~~~

In my previous post, I shared the joys of and lessons in preparing a house to put on the market (and the value of having a rain jacket with a hood – but most sane people already know this). I learned numerous lessons in staging our home and beginning the packing process: mainly, I now prefer a more minimalist way of living (because I never, EVER, want to sort through that much stuff again!); we all need helpers and the humility to receive those gifts of help; less absolutely can be more; and God really does listen to our prayers – and answers, sometimes in the most unexpected ways.

~~~~~

WAVL Home

Our last holiday in our first home together | Thanksgiving 2017 | West Asheville, NC

~~~~~

Our charming craftsman home sold in seven days. SEVEN. (Talk about a huge answer to our prayers!) We were thrilled with the family who purchased our bungalow – they are kind, smart, interesting people and their wee babe also has bright red hair and beautiful blue eyes, just like my husband! (I admit, I had intense baby jealousy!)

We commenced the arduous, emotionally-charged process of leaving one home for another. It was especially emotional, as this was our first home as a married couple, and Jarred had worked so hard and sacrificed so much to purchase and design the house a few years before we met with the hope of finding his bride one day.

I’ll never forget the night after our mini honeymoon when we arrived home – we climbed the steps to the porch hand-in-hand, and Jarred stopped, swooping me up in his arms, and carried me over the threshold of our front door. He whispered in the inky darkness, “All I have, all I am, is yours.” (I’m still swooning!) The next day, I saw I had received a message from the neighbor across the street the night before: “We totally just watched you get carried over the threshold. Yes, your neighbors are spying…but not too closely! Welcome to your new home!” I remember blushing and telling Jarred he was now the talk of the romanticists on our street. And, we might also have stalkers. (Just kidding!) That memory always makes me smile… It felt so nice to have our newly vowed love celebrated by our too-cute neighbor “spies”. We really loved that West Asheville community and the friendships we made. Our first home together was a blessing, and it was hard to leave – even if we believed the place we were headed toward was more in tune with who we were growing to be. Thankfully, the folks we purchased our new place from were just as equally lovely, kind and open-hearted as the family who made our first home their own.

~~~~~

One Chapter Closes, and Another Begins…

"Home at Dusk" | Brackett Studios

“Home at Dusk”| Brackett Studios

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So my sweet, sweet husband and I moved out of the city and became “countrified” folk. We are surrounded by stunning mountains and beautiful lush valleys dotted with the cutest cattle, goats and sheep, and our own paradise is being hard-won. We fell in love with this place – its saturated peace, simple quiet elegance, magical rhododendron forest with private babbling brook running through and a deep, wide porch that beckons us and our family and friends to “sit a spell” while sipping homemade sweet tea and “shooting the breeze”.

We had many joyful expectations for this season in our lives. Dreaming is a gift, and grace even better when dreams fly up, up, up and then dip, curve and crash. Oh, it’s not all lost; it’s more of a paper airplane crash in the whole scheme of things – completely recoverable – but man alive, have you ever had a paper cut that keeps getting salt in the wound? It’s by no means a mortal wound; it just stings, and you really, really can’t wait for the thing to heal – am I right?!

Ten days after moving in to our new home, a piece of plumbing in our master bathroom shower (on the second floor) decided to split right down the middle in a freak occurrence. Chaos ensued, and that’s just not the kind of house warming gift you’d choose to receive if you had your own way about things. But, in the midst of tears and ruined plumbing and buckling hardwood floors, we thanked God for homeowners insurance, and started the process of finding a contractor who could repair the damage. And since we had to move everything down to our basement so the first and second floors could be redone throughout the house, we decided to bite the bullet and remove a couple of walls and have the entire interior of our home repainted while we were at it, including kitchen cabinets, built-ins and shelves. Literally, everything. A total overhaul. After all, it’s now or never, right?!

After six weeks of living in limbo at the house, we packed everything back up and moved out of our newly purchased property for a month, rescued by our generous friends who opened up their family retreat with a gorgeous view on the side of a steep mountain in Maggie Valley, so we could have a nearby place to rest while our home was under construction. What a gift!

~~~~~

“Closing Day” | The joy we felt closing on our first home together was so wonderful!
“Commence Construction”
“Commence Construction | Front Hallway”
“Water Damaged”
“Tear Down the Walls”
Oh, LORD — the yellow must go!!!!
A new open floor plan!
A new open floor plan! Looking into the living room space.

~~~~~

During this time, the beloved and internationally renowned Rev. Billy Graham crossed from this reality over into the Eternal Kingdom he so ardently pursued and whose hope and love he shared with the world. Jarred had served with Billy’s ministry for over twenty years in a few capacities, most consistently at The Cove, which is local to Asheville. He was called away to Charlotte in the early morning hours before the news broke of Billy’s passing to assist in the end of life ceremonies. Around the same time, my body decided to seize up and put me through some of the worst, continuously tortuous physical pain I’ve ever experienced in my life – for over thirty days straight, without reprieve. (Thank you, damaged L4 and L5 vertebrae and pinched nerves. You made me wish for oblivion in the particularly tormenting way only you can do.) And what do you do when doctors, chiropractors and physical therapists can’t help you and medications are useless, and you feel like death would be better than what you’re going through? You go see a faith healer. (Yes, I literally did that.) Perhaps the faith healer was bogus since I left that meeting still in the kind of pain that doubles you over…or, perhaps he helped facilitate a miracle, since I got riled up enough to go see another osteopathic doctor two days later who did, indeed, correct my incredibly out of whack alignment and relief was felt almost immediately. (Thank you, God, for my Spirit-filled brother, Dr. Ben!)

~~~~~

Repairs and renovations were finally complete after waiting on pins and needles for an additional two weeks passed the projected end date, and I could stand mostly upright without hunching over and crying out in pain, only for us to walk in and find things weren’t as anticipated with the house. It can be pretty disappointing when expectations aren’t fully met and you’re tired of living out of a suitcase and – Geez-Louise – you just want to finally settle. We learned a lot of lessons from that experience. Mainly, both Jarred and I will continue to strive to be business owners who care well for our clients – doing the job we were paid to do, and hopefully going above and beyond to honor those who have entrusted us with their heart and resources. People don’t forget how they were treated, how they felt while interacting with a service provider – even while mistakes are a part of life, a part of projects. Communication gets messed up or one party sees things differently than the other. There’s grace and patience for all that. But for the love of all things good – endeavor to find common ground, agree on the solution to the problem at hand, finish the work well and operate your business with integrity! Just do it, people (and I’m preaching to myself here, too).

~~~~~

TinyFlowers | Brackett Studios

“Tiny Flowers” | Brackett Studios

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Fast forward to Easter, on the very auspicious day of April 1st, otherwise known as “April Fool’s Day”. It was late afternoon and we were working on taxes. (Yes; I know exactly what you’re thinking: Taxes on Easter! What a fabulous way to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection!) Jarred went to find a necessary document pertaining to our new home and stumbled across the survey for our land. I heard him go outside and figured he was doing something in the garage. When he walked back in, his face was drawn into quite a frightening expression.  My stomach immediately turned into a knot, and I thought maybe someone died or maybe I did something stupid without knowing it. (Hello, my seven-year-old-self. Always thinking I’m in (or have caused) some sort of trouble and I’m about to get it real good across my backside…) All he said was, “I need you to come outside with me,” like, “Ma’am, I need you to come see the body I’ve exhumed from beneath the old maple tree. And yes, you are the killer. You’re just crazy and didn’t even know it. But we know it. And we all know you did it.” You know?! I was pretty apprehensive following this beloved man of mine outside with that horrible expression on his face. His was the expression of shock and grave seriousness. And this man of mine is not emotive. He’d make a killing player poker if I could ever get him to try the game! I’ve never seen that expression before and I sure as heck hope I never see it again.

We began walking up our land, and he handed me a paper with lots of lines and curves and you know, gibberish to my brain that doesn’t understand diagrams and surveys and such. Oh, I’ll nod my head and smile, but I rarely, if ever, can literally see what the heck the map is saying. (I’d make a terrible pirate, I tell you!) I predominantly feel my way through things… But that’s its own talent, right? Empath.

So, this paper wasn’t really jiving with me, until he pointed out some landmarks, and then my eyes widened, and I said, “I don’t understand.” Because what’s the second weapon in my arsenal after immediate guilt for potentially doing something wrong? Feigning ignorance. Playing dumb. “Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah… I can’t hear you; I can’t see you…” (Fingers in ears, eyes shut tight, shouting nonsense at the top of my lungs just to pretend what’s happening isn’t really happening – the whole shebang. Because then whatever’s being said or done isn’t really happening, right? (Sigh) Only I’m not seven or eight years old now; I’m thirty-eight. And those tactics don’t work so well any longer…)

He’s telling me our land isn’t all our land. My brain can’t process his words. I can’t even fathom he would say all of this just to trick me for April Fool’s. This isn’t a joke, and I can tell. His body is rigid, his face tense. And out of my mouth spills, “Our boundary lines fall in pleasant places.” A weighty pause falls between us. He just stops and stares at me, incredulous, dismayed. I say it more firmly, “Our boundary lines fall in pleasant places!!!” (Thank God for Joyce Meyer and Joel Osteen and Holy Spirit. In the midst of crushing news, I’m naming and claiming in faith the exact opposite of what that survey is showing.) Jarred was losing it (in the way only Jarred can “lose it” – from the outside, people would think he’s just pondering the lay of the land and tearing up because it’s so darn beautiful – not because he can’t believe we were sold something that isn’t actually fully legit ours (yet!)).

I’m not joking when I say that sometimes I am shocked at the reality of how beautiful Jesus can be in us as broken humans and in me, this woman who feels like she can barely hold things together. In that moment, standing there in the rosy glow of Easter’s fading daylight, gaping in confusion at the words coming out of my husband’s mouth, I didn’t cuss, cry or panic. (No, that all came the following day along with a fun case of full-body hives – just being honest! And I may not be able to read a map like a pirate, but by George! I sure as heck can cuss with the best of them!) Thankfully, when the unsanctified me surfaced, Jarred was already across the country for a gig, a full 3,000 miles away, so I processed the nonsensical nightmare with some of my favorite gal-pals over more sushi than a full-grown seal can eat and probably the amount of sake a pirate could drink. Yet in the eventide of Easter, incredible supernatural peace enveloped me, and I wrapped my arms around my sweet, sweet husband as we sat on our bench made from three large rocks overlooking our property and prayed for God to work this all out for us. And we really do believe He will. Because a good Father doesn’t lead you to a disappointing place, you know? He doesn’t excite you with fresh-smelling bread and hand you a stone and say, “Gnaw on this for a while until you get more sanctified.” The reality is, even the Chosen had giants to fight in the Promised Land. YHWH G-d could have easily disposed of all those terrifyingly tall warriors and ushered His people into immediate peace and utopia, but like I said before, He’s a good Father – and good fathers know just what their kiddos need in order to grow in strength, resiliency, wisdom and power.

That kind of sounds like a set up – but it’s not. And when it starts to feel that way – that God set us up – we pause. Because as much as I’m well aware of my deep and wide connection with emotion, emotions aren’t always telling the truth. God doesn’t set us up. He has done everything to heal our hearts, not break them. But life is messy this side of Heaven and things are missed, and people make errors, including us. How this situation happened, we don’t know. We really can’t wrap our minds around it, not even a little. But what we do know is, God is faithful and He’s already working this thing out for us.

The very ironic thing? We wouldn’t have purchased this place with the boundary as how it currently is on paper. There’s no way. It doesn’t make sense. In fact, it makes me mad just thinking about it. Who draws up these land lines, anyhow? They need to go back to the drawing board. “Try again, my friend. Try again. Because this current setup is stupid.”

Alas, that’s not how things work.

We don’t know how all this will pan out, and we are admittedly tired. It’s been a long, bumpy, tiresome season. Moving twice in two months isn’t fun. Pain isn’t fun. Poor workmanship isn’t fun. Being sold something that’s not true isn’t fun. But it’s life sometimes. And gosh darn it – I’m determined to lay hold of the joy set before me. Because that’s all I’ve got in the end. And all this other stuff? It will fade.

~~~~~

Land of Hope

“A Longer View of Hope” | Brackett Studios

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When we were kids, we’d get into dramas and fights, and Mom would intervene and often say (sometimes in exasperation), “Does all this matter in light of eternity?!” I still hear her voice in my head asking this when crappy stuff happens.

It’s difficult to know what things to release and what falls into the category of being taken advantage of. We should have healthy boundaries and stand up for ourselves, right? …I guess?! But then again, Jesus did the total opposite of what Wolverine and Wonder Woman and my own little internal assassinator would do (only bad guys – promise!): He opened wide His arms, allowing metal stakes to be driven through His wrists into a jagged, wooden cross, and, lifted up, released all claims to (righteous, totally deserved) revenge, instead saying, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” And we’ve not faced anything close to the pain and horror Jesus faced. So, no; all the issues we’ve been fighting really, really don’t matter in light of eternity.

So, there’s that!

~~~~~

Time moved forward. We seemed to be stuck in the stalker grip of a very grouchy Winter who was just not willing to accept the fact we’d officially broken up and needed to move on. But we had some pretty days scattered throughout the FIVE MONTHS of Winter, and during those warmer (non-rainy, non-snowy) days, we began to dig up the garden and work the land and settle in to our little homestead. As Spring began to reveal herself, the joy we felt at the beginning of this adventure whispered to us and offered us real hope. And when tiny sprouts popped up in the garden and the flowers began to blossom and bloom as we moved toward Summer, wonder filled our hearts, and joy and peace were felt in deeper, more tangible ways.

~~~~~

Wildflower Meadow | Brackett Studios

Our wildflower meadow | Spring 2018 | Haywood County, NC

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I think it’s important to pay attention to when it feels like joy is being stripped from our lives. It’s key to notice when we’re so tired, even basic life necessities have become too much of an effort. That’s not good, dear ones. Something has to shift – because Jesus very clearly says He prepares a BANQUET FEAST in the midst of our enemies. I don’t know about you, but that’s not some Elvish bread hurriedly stuffed into our mouths on the face of a cliff overlooking Mordor. The banquet Jesus is talking about is a flipping PARTY!!! Ten courses and then even more than that, I bet! Wine! Dancing! Laughter until you can’t breathe! JOY UNSPEAKABLE! I’m pretty sure a banquet feast is one that puts you in the mood to be “close” with your spouse (wink, wink!), not the other way around.

So, I’m curious if there are places in me (okay, I’m not curious; I know there are places in me) that don’t yet trust Jesus. Yeah…there are. I want to be in control! HA! I mean, the eternal part of me doesn’t want to be in control and totally trusts the Godhead, but there are other places, hidden, still wounded, still hurting, still timid and angry and confused. I think Jesus loves ALL of us – all of what comprises us as individuals – dark and light, hidden and seen – and  He is yearning for us to learn from Him – receive Him – His healing, His freedom, His power, His Spirit – His REST…

~~~~~

Rest has always been a complicated matter in my world. What is rest?! I’m striving even when it comes to rest. Silly, I know. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t breastfed. Maybe it’s from early childhood trauma. Maybe it’s a seed of fear embedded so deep, its roots have choked out all space for perfect love. But God doesn’t get to be God if He can’t heal me through and through and lead me to His perfect rest (or so I am often reminded by my beloved, trusted counselor). So, I keep giving it to God!

It was an early Spring day and I had a yearning to worship through playing piano, which happened to be in our detached garage. As of the initial writing of this post, we hadn’t yet moved the piano back into the house since all the work had commenced, and I rather enjoyed it out there in some ways. I’d open wide the garage doors, and the piano faced toward the land that someday will be ours (one way or another), and I would play that piano in faith, in trust, in hope, in peace. I played it as a weapon of worship. I played it and asked Holy Spirit to inspire me and move through me. I played and sang, and hoped and prayed my neighbors didn’t mind the sounds coming from our garage…

While I was processing and worshipping one Sunday afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird made an appearance in their weathered, wooden house under the pergola, right outside of the garage door, and my heart just stopped in awe. They are so, so beautiful – and I am a bird FREAK, so of course, I was just giddy about the whole scenario. I snuck out and ran into the house to grab my camera, begging God like a little kid to allow me to capture their “portrait”.

Of course, He did. And of course, it was awesome!

~~~~~

“Poser” | Brackett Studios
“Nothing but Tail-Feathers” | Brackett Studios
“Peeking Out” | Brackett Studios

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As I traipsed around the yard playing National Geographic photog with Papa God, I was at complete rest. It was wonderful… It was thrilling… It was free… I think that’s how true rest is meant to be: so natural, you don’t even know you’re doing it. It’s just happening, effortlessly.

While I was waiting for the blue birds to circle back, I photographed our apple trees and all their little blossoms that so bravely hung on through our harsh Winter in these breathtaking Blue Ridge Mountains. I was so inspired by their delicate form mixed with tenacity and courage. As I captured this particular branch reaching toward the sky, I felt like I was witnessing a poem in action. While I edited the photos from my restful adventure time with God, this poem was birthed. I’ll leave this here for you, hoping it will encourage your heart in the fight for the feast God has for you right in the middle of your own battle! And in a few days, I will share the second part of this “catching up” series.

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Spring Poem_RLBBrackett2

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And this is true worship:

The ever upward reach;

Expanding and growing toward the Light,

When all the Earth is cloaked in darkness

And Winter’s long harsh cold

Threatens to undo Spring’s bright hope.

Yes;

This is true worship –

The fierce determination to offer up

All of who we are

Despite the allure of curling inward.

No –

We choose to blossom our pale white faith

In the frigid air of disappointment;

We choose to reveal divinely bestowed beauty,

Undeterred by culture’s encroaching apathy;

We hold tight to our roots through the bitter swirling winds,

Believing in the promise of Harvest’s fruit made manifest

If we don’t give up or give in

(Though its sweetness feels so far away)

We cling to Future’s brilliant expectation,

Knowing the Past has brought us to where we are planted today.

And groaning inwardly, we strain upward – ever upward – toward our call.

This is our true worship:

We worship here in Spirit and in Truth,

And through Faith’s assurance, bloom…

~~~~~

Part II of catching up will hopefully come soon. Thanks for sharing the journey with me! Until then, I remain,

Your friend and fellow seeker   xx

 

Out of Hiding, Into the Light of Love & Forgiveness

/ Rebekah Brackett / 9 Comments

BrackettStudios-112

“Out of Hiding” | Brackett Studios

I’ve been avoiding pen and paper and the blinker on the blank computer screen. There aren’t a lot of things I can say openly about the horror which surfaced in my counseling session a few months ago. This new flashback – so warped and mind-bending and gut-wrenching – has been too much to bear. I haven’t been able to put it into words for myself, much less release it in a medium to reveal to others. You can’t dumb down the terror for people. It feels like some things just can’t be shared. It’s either incredibly triggering for other survivors or people don’t have any compass for what you’re telling them. So you’re left either triggering someone inadvertently or alienating yourself by making public things no one wants to know.

The poem on my last blog post was written in 2008. I scanned stacks of journals spanning the last quarter of a century and sorted through scraps of paper on which I had scribbled racing thoughts and culled through random decade-old small square bar napkins laden with ink and prose for anything – anything – I could substitute for a current-day blog entry. The poem I eventually found toward the bottom of the pile sufficed and it resonated with who I am today, and that was that. I was begging myself for time to process without being false on this blog where I am “launching into the deep things of the soul and holding nothing back from what I’ve learned”. But that was weeks (now months) ago, and as time has ebbed on, I’ve felt the rift — I’m not writing on this blog. I’m not being honest… I’m most certainly holding back, and I’m most definitely hiding.

I hate hiding.

I’ve never been good at hiding. Not one bit.

So here I am.

~~~~~

I told you a while ago something was invading my peripheral vision – a memory haunted just beneath the surface of my consciousness, lurking. Waiting. Stalking. Watching for the perfect time to rise up from the depths, releasing its pulled-pin grenade into my waking life.

Because of this, my internal guardians have been on higher alert than usual. I can’t help but know the brutal awareness of hidden things aggressively pushing forward. They have a certain volatile energy. The effect of this game of hide-and-go-seek is hypervigilance at all times. ALL TIMES. Like, while washing dishes. Sweeping the floor. Weeding the garden. Cleaning the toilet. Taking a shower. Cooking dinner. Lying down next to my husband at the end of the no-reason-for-the-overwhelming-anxiety day. The Guardians know something is on its way. They are the Watchmen of my soul. They are the first responders to my awakening remembrance of trauma.

Typing this swells tears across my vision along with the accustomed feel of thick, tightening rope around my throat and a baby elephant stomping angry staccatos in place on my chest. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because these Guardians are so damn tired. Every part of me is ripped through with exhaustion. When will these nightmares and memory flashes of abuse and trauma end?!

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It doesn’t slip past me I am pouring out bits and pieces of my story in such a public fashion, mostly to unknown people on the internet. But in the words of Will Rogers, “A stranger is just a friend I haven’t met yet.” At least this is what I tell myself – “We’re all friends here…” The truth is, the majority of you don’t know my history, my heartbreak, my family of origin, the cult I was raised in, the horrific things done to me as a child, the trauma I survived through adulthood, the unhealthy choices I made out of brokenness, or the immense amount of pain and humility involved in a healing journey of this nature. I suppose that’s why I started this blog – to share the remarkable beauty I’m finding woven throughout all of this mess. This kind of soul-searing pain isn’t worth going through unless it eventually leads to life and hope and helping others somehow…

I acknowledge there is always a risk in baring our souls for others to see – the glory, the murk, the scars, the new blossoms of hope and healing, the signs of fruit born from encountering the Redeemer. To hold back is to stay “safe”. But I keep thinking of the verse which essentially says, “Love lays down its life for another.” If I am sacrificed on the altar of people’s good opinion in order to reach another survivor (of self-inflicted wounding or trauma perpetrated by another or even those burned at the stake by a falsely-religious “church”) so they are brought into the awareness they are not alone, the sacrifice is worth it. It has to be. In the end, it’s not about my good standing in the eyes of the person sitting next to me in the pew or at the Thanksgiving dinner table. It’s about living courageously and openly, revealing my heart in vulnerability so others know – in the hidden crevices of their souls – they are not alone in their private torment or left questioning if they will be loved if their secrets are exposed. If the telling of my truth empowers others to share their truth and therefore experience freedom, isn’t that what helps “heal the soul of the world”? (Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist)

When I stand before God, I want to be able to look Him in the eyes and know without a shadow of a doubt I’ve allowed Him unobstructed, utterly thorough access to these ash heaps of my life so He could do His miracle work and exchange them for what He calls beautiful. And part of that is to openly share my story and journey with others. Because every single person is a survivor in some form or fashion, and there’s nothing the enemy of our souls likes more than twisting our pain in such a way that we hide or feel ostracized and alone in facing it all. The truth is, we’re not alone. We are free to come out of hiding. This is the hope Christ gives us – He came to affirm we are never on our own and He has promised to make all things new. He came to give us life, abundantly; to gather and heal the shattered in heart from whatever wrecking ball hit us straight on. He came to love us completely, and yes – to love those who harmed us.

Yes — He came as the embodiment of Love for all.

~~~~~

I was curled up tight in the fetal position in bed – the inanimate object featured in so much of my trauma – wracked with excruciating pain — physically, mentally and emotionally — and I wished God would just end my time here on Earth. I felt worthless, eaten up with grief and dread and fighting ghosts no one else could see. I believed my life was officially a lost cause.

And then, I got really, really angry.

In that abyss, a vision opened. I rounded up all those abusers and rapists and child molesters and assaulters and sexual harassers in one room, and I held a very large, very powerful weapon. I was about to unleash the wrath of all my pent-up years of torment, and guess who entered the room? JESUS. Beautiful, holy Jesus. But also, Jesus the Judge, the true Terror against any and every evil. “Vengeance is Mine — I will repay!” thundered with the kind of authority that throws you on your face, shocked and trembling and yearning to beg for mercy although all words have fled your mouth — even though you feel you haven’t done anything technically wrong in the current scenario (yet…).

Jesus’ eyes of fire and unshakeable love engulfed me as I peeked up at Him. I cannot even begin to describe the grief that permeated my angry, cavernous heart. All that is hollow and dead in me rushed to the surface. I couldn’t hide from the ugliness done to me or the ugliness I had allowed to dwell within my soul. Then He did something only God could wholly do: He crouched down beside me, entered into my suffering, and gently asked to take on my revenge, to stand in the gap for me. This is what my tiny-girl heart has always wanted: someone in authority to stand up for the injustices and cruelties committed against me. Someone to show all those perpetrators who’s boss! After a few moments of intense internal debate, and yes, mistrust of whether He would really stand up for me, I released my revenge to Him. I watched as He filled up and up and up, expanding until He had taken on EVERYTHING they had ever done to me as well as everything toxic in my life that had spiraled out from those roots of trauma. He bore my terror, my frozen body, my dissociated mind. He embraced my volcanic rage, my dark depression, my never-ending questions, my debilitating panic, my unhealthy coping mechanisms, my deep-seated desire for safety, acceptance and control. He soaked up my angst and the poison of bitterness of soul. He laid Himself down in the gap of inhumanity, unbearable torture and soul-splintering shame, and covered me in my wrath and woe. He blanketed my body’s nakedness, quieted my mind’s desperation, and gathered up all the fragments and particles comprising my wrung-out, shattered, exposed heart. His healing love was making me whole from before the beginning of the trauma.

And as He loved me, He loved them…

Yes. You read that correctly: He recognized and took into account the actions of those who had tormented me as a little girl, those who had abused and terrorized me as a young woman and who took gross advantage of me in my adulthood, and still loved them. Jesus’ greatest revenge against the evil in them was to love them wholly, unconditionally, unequivocally…just as He loved me.

After my initial shock of, “You didn’t decimate them?!”, the realization slowly dawned and the knowledge began to expand through and through just how awesome, how powerful, how holy His love truly is.

Don’t get the meaning behind my words twisted – He doesn’t ever condone or accept evil. In fact, He is so radically opposed to evil and darkness and pain that He chose to take it all on Himself at the Cross of Calvary so He could fully stand in our place.

This is where we truly see the power of the love of God – and it changes EVERYTHING.

God’s love disables the works of darkness – the eternal effects of the evil done against us is made null and void. Because of the love of God, we are walking into the awareness of our new identity as healed, hope-filled, courageous and compassionate conquerors of the Light. We are familiar with the reality of darkness and know the Light within us can never be extinguished. And this makes us incredible warriors, willing to fight for those still tortured by evil, stalwart that we cannot and will not leave other wounded souls to fend for themselves. We aren’t Jesus and we’re not expecting to be anyone’s savior, but we are filled with His Spirit – and His is a Spirit of power, of love and of a sound mind! We get to journey with Him and share in the joy as He redeems and compels and reveals all that is hidden. His love is the truest sword and the truest healing. No one remains a victim – or a perpetrator – in the Kingdom of God.

And we are – all of us – in the end, set free; known, heard, seen and loved completely by a God who cannot do otherwise.

Selah.

~~~~~

It’s after 3AM and the windows in our home are flung wide open to allow the late Summer evening breeze to blow in, carrying with it the melody of crickets and tree frogs’ songs and the fragrance of grass wet from rain. The intensity with which I am writing has me literally on the edge of this ladder-backed dining room chair. Our sweet black-as-midnight kitty Bailey has taken the liberty to curl up behind me at the base of my seat, his gentle rhythmic breathing a familiar comfort against my frame, while our other fur-baby, Riley, snores softly at my fidgeting feet. I think to myself, “How can they be so at rest?” I am bone-weary yet alert. My husband went to bed hours ago, and I’d love to find a safe place beside him in sleep. But last night as I fought to doze away, more new memories came…but just the fringe ones. They are like the first faint signs of a hurricane blowing far, far away. The breeze feels kind of refreshing, and if you didn’t hear the weather report, you’d think it was a pretty nice Indian Summer day. These memories are harmless and somewhat amusing like finding an old VHS tape of a cheesy movie you liked as a ten-year-old. You remember the foggy details like you’re reliving someone else’s dream. But experience has taught me what these fringe flashes mean: a storm is brewing, and soon it will make landfall in my “up front” consciousness. The reality is, the last storm of flashbacks hit hard. I’m still reeling from it, trying to find my balance and stride. Half the time I wonder exactly who is operating the woman known as Rebekah Brackett. It’s like my auto-pilot survival mode has kicked in, and I’m waiting to actually feel “Me” again – without fear of breaking down into an inconsolable and irreparable mess.

With a heavy sigh that somehow escapes my restricted breathing, I close my eyes in prayer. Lord, have mercy… I don’t feel strong enough to go even deeper into the pain. Even with the truth of God’s love beginning to permeate the locked rooms and back closets and out-buildings of my soul – even with the awareness Christ calls me “more than a conqueror” – I feel debilitated from the intensity of this healing journey that started as a “3-hour tour” (aka, “a short work hiatus to address a variety of health issues”) and shipwrecked me for the last.six.eons. on the island of You Get To Face Your Worst Nightmares That Your Own Brain Hid From You And If You Survive, You Win A Prize – Your Life! At this rate, I could have become pregnant, birthed a baby and raised a child now entering the 1st grade or earned some sort of advanced degree or something productive to show for the six plus years invested in healing. And now, I’m facing darker, more sinister memories than the worst I’ve already had to claw my way through?! I mean, C’MON!!!!!

I often wonder if I knew then – before Pandora’s Box decided to explode itself into my waking life – what I know now, if I would have instead chosen to live blissfully blind in denial. But the truth is, the reality of trauma was a familiar slap across my face by that point already; there was no true way of hiding from the monsters in my memories forever.

Memories haunt…

Let them come. And when they come, may I not wage war with them, despite every effort of my guardians to protect my waking life and shaky grasp of things as we know them to be. Oh, God – may I open to the unfolding of these gifted flashback plagues just as I would lie down in trust under the wise surgeon’s scalpel. They are harbingers of the good, the bad, the terrifying… but allowing their sacred secrets to surface is a means for wholeness to be realized and found. There is only one way: through.

I am convinced faith and hope take us by the trembling hand, assuring we do not go this way alone. What was meant for evil against us, Jesus has promised to make right. He brings such glory and good out of our pain, we can look at it all through tears of joy and proclaim, “It is well with my soul!” Forgiveness sets us free, and love reigns!

This is the truth I cling to; this is the light of my life and my salvation: Jesus – and that He has first loved me.

We do not go this way alone.

xx

Distant Hope

/ Rebekah Brackett / 2 Comments

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“Distant Hope” | Photo by Rebekah Brackett, Brackett Studios

Weary, I yet search.

Stumbling, I continue forward.

Onward, I glance back again;

Are You there?

 

The largest organ of me is hidden from sight –

It is not the covering of these frail bones and sinews of broken memories;

It is the ever-evolving Spirit of You, of me,

Melded as One –

Or so I used to believe.

 

You seduce; I am easily flustered.

You whisper; I fear the loss of mental solidity.

You shine; I feel warmth on the surface,

But the light loses power in my core darkness.

You create dreams; I break them.

You become my home; I wander.

 

“The human spirit is stronger than we realize,” they prattle to me.

Can’t they see how shattered and worn-out I am?

I see a vision of a house in the distance

Which once portrayed all meaning of “home” to me.

Now it mocks as the feet turn into yards and the yards turn into miles

Between safety and the wild wilderness in which I am entrapped.

Alas – my legs are crippled by unbelief,

My arms weakened from years of neglect

To nurture hope or build up courage –

Both of which must be exercised over time in order to realize

Any meaningful effect.

 

Perhaps I could cry out for a neighbor to carry me home;

But no one is there is hear my call.

Perhaps I should give up and give in to despair;

That is what my aching heart is screaming.

But something more – something calm, still, resilient –

Persists within me.

It will be my undoing –

It could be my salvation.

 

Hope remains alive.

I can still see home…

All is not lost –

I might still be found.

The Relentless, Passionate Pursuit of Restoration

/ Rebekah Brackett / 1 Comment

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“Roses at Dusk” | Photo by Rebekah Brackett, Brackett Studios

Darkness encroaches, steadily seeping into my world. All is still, hushed under heaviness. The vibrant verdant hues of Summer’s approach are dulled with the impending ink of night. My favorite wooded reprieves bare down under the Sky’s tears and the lush honeysuckle sighs. Mountain ranges are turned to charcoal silhouettes against the backdrop of stacked varying tones of grey and sullen blue. The Spring roses heave their heady musk into the damp air, yet fail to distract from the danger I feel pressing, prickling the nape of my neck. Something is coming, and every part of me feels it. What has been chasing me just outside of my peripheral vision stalks ever closer, more sinister. Or perhaps what is unknown is considered frightening simply on the basis of previous harrowing experience. Either way, friend or foe, memory taunts, and I am worn thin in the layers of me, all the way down to my tired, aching bones.

I keep thinking… we are meant for more than simply waiting to die. I strive and I forge ahead, but often feel I am carrying the Ring of Sauron around my heart; a violent shrieking threatens to break out from the cells of my being where trauma had its way with me. I am over it. I am over it all, and I push back against the impending doom of yet another “new” memory crashing into my conscious sphere. When will this “healing journey” be over? When will it be enough?! I demand answers, but realize the questions I ask aren’t always the ones God wants to address.

The truth of it is, it’s not all darkness and heaviness in the lands that comprise my being. Increasingly, there are more and more expanses of light and life and hope — even moments of revelry and joy so beautiful, it almost excruciates me in its pleasure. I am learning, growing, healing. And Lord, it has taken eons. But throughout it all, He has been with me.

Oh, I rant and rave within myself and daily carry the weight of the pain and nightmare, but to stop there would be a lie. Because in the midst of the chaos and confusion and emptiness and numb, Jesus has been there every single step of the way. Every time I lie down and cry to die, He’s been there. Every time fear curls me into the fetal position, He’s been there. Each time laughter has broken out of this mouth so hungry for truth, He’s laughed with me. And within the labored seasons of grief or the ever-expanding glimpses of wholeness, He’s been my Immanuel — God with me. Right in the mess, right in the glory and in every space of this life in between.

I don’t carry the Ring of Sauron around my heart; Jesus paid for the curses, for the atrocities, for the sins committed against me just as He paid for the sins I’ve committed against others. I can’t be a victim or simply a survivor as a daughter of God. I am MORE THAN A CONQUERER… I reign with Him in the heavenly places, and all that has been given Him has been shared with me. His promise declares I am moving from glory to glory and strength to strength!

And yet — the reality is, I’m walking into the true awareness of the wholeness Christ has gifted me. So I wrestle; I grope for Him in the night watches and I seek to receive all of Him in all of me. I am relentless in my passionate pursuit of restoration. I understand the storm will pass and daybreak will greet me again. But it doesn’t always feel that way. Depression and pain are very, very real. The effects of trauma are real. It doesn’t make us failures as humans after encountering the arrows of hell to be enveloped with grief, feel anger at the injustices committed against us, or question our existence and wonder why terrible things happened. We wouldn’t be human otherwise. Please don’t allow the sharing of my faith and encounters with Jesus to convey your own heartache isn’t valid or something to be acknowledged and honored; it is surely the opposite. All of us matters to Him. I believe in more and more of my heart He is continually, unbreakably present with us in the midst of it all. And that is changing everything for me.

“Then why does He allow awful things to happen?” we might ask. The simplified explanation I’ve come to is we live in a world at war (to borrow the words of John Eldredge). But just as we ask why God allows all the pain we see and experience, we need to equally ask in awe why He allows so much good and beauty in a fallen world. In this realm, the two extremes will be inextricably tied together. I think this is why we long for a far better place… Tonight, my heart aches for my eternal home where “everything sad will come untrue.” (J.R.R. Tolkein, The Lord of the Rings) But even as I feel this in the depths of my being, I hear the Lord gently remind me how He taught His disciples to pray: “Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.” (Matthew 6:9-10, my emphasis) We don’t have to wait for the afterlife to experience glory, to revel in wholeness. In Heaven, there is no sorrow, no pain, no suffering, no confusion, no illness, death or disease. So I strain forward, pushing the boundaries of my mustard seed-like faith, and cry for expansion… Let me live as though Heaven has come to Earth, because it has.

What then will I do when the buried memories rise up and hit like a tsunami — for they don’t taunt without basis and come they will for a reckoning? I will recall the words of a cherished, wise counselor: “You have already survived it all. You are alive!” And Jesus will meet me there just as He has in every broken and beautiful place before.

In the end, we choose to see our pain from a place of deception  — “This is who you are; this is all there is.” — or from a place of extraordinary victory — “This is not the end; there is more to life than this.” I choose life again today, and by God’s grace, I’ll choose it again tomorrow, trusting in His promise of “a whole, healed, put-together life right now, with more and more life on the way!” (Romans 6:22, The Message, my emphasis)

Be blessed in the shadowlands, and be blessed on the mountaintops, for Jesus is with us wherever we go! xo