Revival of the Soul

Revival of the Soul started off as a short story. I wrote it for a narrative class in college sometime before 2003. After graduation I took a theatre class at West L.A., where the final exam was to perform a short scene. The teacher gave the option of writing a short scene for other students to act out to those who preferred not to perform. I was one of the latter. I decided to turn a portion of Revival of the Soul into a short scene and it was performed by two of my fellow students--who did an amazing job, if I may say so!

At the time I wrote R.O.S., I had never experienced the loss of a parent. Ironically, when both my mother and father passed away during the latter part of last year, the short scene I had written ten years earlier really ministered to me. God knows I loved my mom and dad so much. They accepted me for who I was and loved me unconditionally. It hurt so much to imagine life without them, and yet it hurt even more to see them in pain.

I am so thankful to God for walking with me and comforting me during the most difficult time of my short life. I am still learning how to walk by faith, how to trust in Him, how to really turn all my hurt, and pain over to Him, and how to hear Him when He speaks...

I thank God for the things He has revealed to me about life, death, love, His love for me, and my purpose here on earth. I don't know that I would have slowed down nor quieted down long enough to open my eyes and ears to the things He had for me had things happened any differently.  

 

Check out this link for a copy of my short play Revival of the Soul (in its entirety).  I hope you enjoy.

http://caligirlnewsletter.files.wordpress.com/2013/03/revival-of-the-soul.pdf
 

In Him

As I walk in the garden, I feel a gentle breeze

I kneel down and thank the Lord for supplying all my needs

When surrounded by placidity I always feel so blessed

I’m able to talk with my Father and get everything off my chest

I exhale all my troubles and inhale the peace He gives

I’m honored to share this time with Him because of who He is

He’s my creator, my provider, my rock, my every thing

And I love who I am because of Him

I’m confident in His presence—where I feel His pure affection

He renews my heart and mind and I humbly follow His direction

I’m overjoyed to know that He delights to be with me

And thankful for the opportunity to know Him intimately

I exhale all my insecurities and inhale the assurance He gives

I’m honored to share this time with Him because of who He is

He’s my answer, my restorer, my comforter, my very best friend

And I love who I am in Him

Important Lessons at a Young Age

Everyone has that story from childhood—the one their parent tells every opportunity she gets—the one the child wishes the parent would just forget because it was so long ago and no one really cares anyway.  One of my mom’s favorite stories about me was the time that I prayed my way out of a whipping. 

“The Lord heard her that day,” she would laugh and say. 

I’m not quite sure what I had done.  All I know is that after church one Sunday my mom took me to my big, big sister’s house between services so that I could collect a whipping I had earned at church.  Her whippings were the worst to me because she was always so nice to me.  When I got one it hurt my feelings more than anything else.  My mom didn’t believe in whipping clothes or eyeballs so she would make us strip down to our underwear, get on our knees, and put our heads on the bed with our eyes covered while she spanked with freshly picked switches. The emotional pain was accentuated by the physical pain and the residual welts served as reminders to keep me in check for at least another few months.

For some reason on this particular Sunday afternoon I asked my mom to give me a moment to pray.  She said ok.  I went into one of my sister’s back bedrooms, where I remained for at least thirty minutes.  I prayed out loud that day like the deacons during devotion at an old school Baptist church.  “Heavenly Father, PLEASE sir don’t let my mom whip me today.  I'm so sorry!  Please, Lord!” I begged.

My mom said that each time she would step to the door of the bedroom, she could hear me wailing and calling on the Lord.

It really tickled her.  She called my sister to come listen to me.  They both cracked up, unbeknownst to me.  I knew it was unlikely that my mom would decide against spanking me, since I had actually done wrong, but I hoped the Lord would grant me this one request.

"Please, Lord, heavenly Father!!  I won't do it again.  I promise.  Ohhhhhhh."

As my prayer dragged on, my mother finally came in the room and told me to get off my knees.  She sternly said she wouldn’t whip me this time as long as I promised not to commit the same offense again.  I promised that I wouldn’t and thanked the Lord because He had spared my behind.  My mom showed mercy--forgave my transgression and withheld the punishment I actually deserved. 

That day I learned that prayer is powerful. 

 

"I Love You"

“I love you,” I heard You whisper, when I hung my head in shame. 

“What was that?” I asked bewildered, expecting disappointment, condemnation, and blame—anything but love. 

“I love you.  I always have, and I always will.” 

As tears rolled down my cheeks, I grasped the weight of Your words.  In spite of all that I had done to break Your heart, You still loved me.  You never stopped loving me.

Wow! 

“Forgive me, Father,” I cried out.

“You are forgiven.  It is forgotten.”

Your peace immediately filled my spirit.

And from that day to this I have felt Your loving embrace every moment of every season of my life.  Through it all, You are right here with me, loving me. 

Thank you!

I love you, Abba.  Nothing and no one compares to You.  You are love and life is worth living because of You!

My Love Letter to My Mother (Throwback from 2002)

Bier,

Ever since I can remember, you have called me your little rose.  I never really sat and thought about why until today.  There are a couple things about your relationships with roses that are reminiscent of your relationship with me.

First, you have a beautiful rose garden, for which you spend a great deal of time caring.  The roses in your garden are all different colors, yet they all receive your love and affection.  You don’t seem to be partial to the reds or oranges, nor the whites or pinks.  They all receive the same attention from you.

Second, you pick your roses with care, set them all around the house, and enjoy their beauty.  It is obvious that your tender touches mean as much to them as their pulchritude means to you.  They realize that you don’t care for them because you were forced to care, but rather because it is something that you enjoy doing.  You love having them around you. 

“Good morning, roses,” I hear you say.  And at the sound of your voice they open their arms, reach to the Heavens, and rejoice.  They appreciate your nurturing, as is evidenced by their response to your lovely face and your kind words.

It makes me feel so special to know that I am your little rose.  You have spent twenty long years watering me with your love, fertilizing me with your wisdom, tilling my soil with your kind words of encouragement, and healing my wounded spirit when different bugs and insects take advantage of my dispositions.  You have done these things faithfully and they have proven to me that you care.

You appreciate me in all the different seasons of my life and throughout the changing colors of my buds.  On days when I am happy or sad, moody or glad, angry or overjoyed, confused, downtrodden, or hysterical, you are there loving me unconditionally.  When I yell or fuss, worry or nag, you are there loving me unconditionally.  When I am not at my best, not feeling too well, insecure or defensive, you are there loving me unconditionally and in spite of my faults and mistakes.  And your presence and love have meant the world to me.

When I sit in the choir stand, catch your eyes, and see you smile lovingly upon me, I see ever so clearly that you are proud of me, and that makes me happy.  I get a wonderful feeling inside and my heart opens up and invites you to relax in its most comfortable chair, where you are forever welcome.  One look from you and I know that our love will never end.  I will love you for always and you will love me until the end of time. 

I hope you know that I love, respect, admire, and appreciate you with all that is within me!  You have been the best mother that anyone could ask for!  I am proud to be your little rose, happy and contented with the care you give, and determined to reach to the Heavens and make you proud.

With my deepest love,

Lou

(August 2002)

Seeds (Throwback from 2005)

I remember when I used to think whatever—write whatever.  Now, to the best of my ability, I censor my thoughts and control my hand so that whatever makes it to the page represents the legacy I hope to leave behind.

My creativity is not stifled because I force myself to think outside of my mental comfort zone.  To the contrary, I am free and able to experience God’s mental symphony that I thought impossible to play its sweet melody inside of me.

I allow God to plant positive seeds in the soil of my psyche…and these seeds are watered by His Holy Spirit, which is that little voice inside of me that has kept me sane and remained peaceful when all else raged. 

And it is these seeds that flower into a colossal tree inside me with braches yearning to be freed of the shell that encompasses my being.  Dying to breathe carbon dioxide and provide oxygen to the dying world around me.  It’s all about relationship.  This tree is so much bigger than me and I can no longer keep it inside.

For there is so much power in this tree that God has planted within me.  The words that He has given me are also meant for the world around me.  And in these words lie the mental, physical, and spiritual stimulation of being rooted in the Master’s undying love.  And in His infinite love, there is liberation from strongholds; there is peace in the midst of tumultuous situations; there is joy unlike the happiness any happening can bring—joy that no man can take away; there is understanding; there is truth; there is security; there is protection; there is comfort; there is freedom!

So you see, by censoring me, I become God’s vessel and He uses me to plant His seeds in the lives of others.

As He Lay

My father was an amazing man.  I can’t tell you how many pieces I wrote about him or how many letters I wrote to him or how much I talked about him every day.  He was my hero.  There were things he never knew I said about him behind his back—things like:  “Pops is my boy!”  “That dude pops is a thug.”  In my mind he was like Victor Newman on The Young and the Restless.  He got things done!  And I loved that about him.

My dad KNEW that I loved him because I did my best to both show and tell him, but I can honestly say that he had no idea the full extent of that love.  He probably never knew how much I actually thought about him each day…or exactly how much I admired and respected him……or how I looked for him when I had a problem I couldn’t seem to figure out…or how much I wanted to be just like a female version of him…or how I really did internalize everything he taught me…or how I felt like no one else could compare to him.  My friends and I would constantly reminisce and laugh at all the hilarious and outrageous things he inadvertently said over the years.  I’m quite sure that he had no idea that he was responsible for hours of my mind’s ongoing comedy showcase.  I wouldn’t have known how to put all that into words.  Each time I tried, I had to cut it short because of all my tears.

As my father lay dying, my biggest fear became my reality.  He’d been in the hospital a few times during my life and each time I cried and acted up!  Each time I was afraid that it was the end.  And each time he would say, “Stop all that crying!”  One time, he loudly told someone to get me outta the room with all my crying.  This time he looked at me as I cried and I could tell he wanted to tell me not to, but he knew that he was nearing his end.  He looked at me with loving eyes.  And I continued to cry. 

Although I miss my father sooooo much, I am eternally thankful for the precious moments God allowed me to witness during my father’s last days—my mother adjusting his covers to keep him warm and him re-adjusting them to keep himself cool; my sister and her new husband stopping by immediately after their wedding and my father pleased to see her so happy and lovely in her beautiful dress; the huge smile and satisfaction on his face when my brother, his namesake, walked into the room to spend the evening with him; my father instructing Amari and kissing Halle for the final time; his concern for my mom and relief when I promised him that I would do my best to look after her.  The predominant theme was love.  For the first time I understood that love is what matters most.  It is what remains when all else passes away.  Love is powerful.  God is love and I felt His presence all around me.

I am so grateful that God allowed me to see my father’s face when he laid eyes on Jesus.  That sounds strange, but I saw it.  My dad was lying in the hospital bed.  I was standing by the window crying and talking to the Lord.  My dad sat up, looked past me, lifted up his arm as if grabbing hold to the Master’s hand, and smiled the biggest smile I have ever seen.  His mouth was open as if gazing upon the most glorious splendor.  His eyes looked youthful.  Big.  Blue.  Bright.  Just as soon as he’d sat up, he laid right back down.  Shortly after, I mustered up enough strength to ask him if he was in any pain.  He responded by shaking his head and saying, “I’m so happy.  I’m just rejoicing right now.”  I hadn’t expected that response, but I was glad. 

The day before my dad died, I put my face right in his face and held his head in my hands and rubbed his hair.  “I love you so much, dad!”  I had never been so close to him.  I had never rubbed my hands through his hair.  I had never thought to until this moment.  And it felt so right.  He smiled at me and repeated twice, “I appreciate it.”  I hadn’t expected that response either but that was my dad.  My “dude.”

I miss my dad.  God knows I miss my daddy!!!!  But I am so happy to have had him in my life for 30 years.  I am happy for the memories and the guidance and the love.  And I rejoice because I know I will see him again someday.

R.I.P. Reverend Wimberly Watson I
April 28, 1923 - July 1, 2012