What I’ve Learned from Jesus

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

Out of Hiding, Into the Light of Love & Forgiveness

/ Rebekah Brackett / 9 Comments

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“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?!

~~~~~

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

The Relentless, Passionate Pursuit of Restoration

/ Rebekah Brackett / 1 Comment

RosesAtDusk_BrackettStudios

“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