Found in Transformation

“May the bridges I burn…light the way.”

Twelve days into the New Year and I have crusaded for causes, battled unseen demons and stood my ground on matters of the heart. I can’t wait to see what the other 353 days bring my way.

A passage I read taken from a book by Joni Eareckson Tada leaps at me with a message of going deeper. She quotes the following:

By faith these people overthrew kingdoms, ruled with justice and received what God had promised them. They shut the mouths of lions, quenched the flames of fire and escaped death by the edge of the sword. Their weakness was turned to strength. They became strong in battle and put whole armies to flight.

~ Hebrews 11:33-34 NLT

 

Throughout my life, beyond all that my Creator did to catch me in his loving arms… in order to protect, He gifted me with a phenomenal imagination.

In releasing the creative realm through my writings, there is no one who can make me feel more invisible than when I chose to escape from the scathing stigma I deal with. 

When I sit to type the rawness of my emotions, there in my protective sphere, the light cannot be reversed. And as I sit amongst a grove of Sitka spruce trees, one by one I witness those who have been seeds nascent of love lost, friendships forged and my circle of seven, ever-changing. 

I welcome the gentleness of Terry Stofer, the shine of her periwinkle eyes, upon me. She embraces a person as if hugging their soul. Her soft-spoken voice calms me in the same way; the forests breathe oxygen, into my lungs. Throughout our friendship, I have come to her with my baggage of demons and she has helped me unpack them one by one. Around her I speak truth, of God’s unravelling grace upon me. Woven into my spirit, I know what an angel of mercy looks like, in the friendship I share with Terry.

Next, I extend my arms outward to Judy Dowd. Her hopeful voice resonates within me. As we share about our beloved daughters in Heaven; Lindsay and Shayla cast a rainbow upon us. My dear friend Judy offers me an abundance of love; much like the wildflowers blanketing my forest floor, she is my laughter, my tears and a provider of well-being. For these reasons, I know gratefulness exists… as I am deeply thankful for all that she believes in me. 

 I soon watch as Michelle Wells makes her way to me. The warmth of her immense smile, reminds me of all that joy we have shared. We embrace knowing how much I value her friendship. She listens to the fall-outs of my earthly life, with no judgements. I boldly share with her wounds and the scars held together with the mishaps of my life. She is a shoulder to lean on and a voice I want to hear on the other end of the line, when I am at the shortest part of my rope. Her endearing words calling me an amazing woman, mother and dear friend, makes my heart sing. For re-connecting with Michelle made me know the beauty of doors opening again. 

 

Sitting amongst the woodlands with my friends, I know this place, like the back of my hand. There are still vacant seats in my circle of endearing individuals, who have played a part in my life.

Walking towards me is Amanda Swoboda, whose auburn tresses are in beautiful contrast to the spruce trees, she strolls through. For me, a Warrior of darkest storms, she sees the flames burning inside me. An endless flow of conversations shared between us, Amanda has seen both the unsteadiness within me and the fierceness of my advocacy…never giving up as another battle approaches. Her astute euphemisms spoken to me throughout the years have been guide markers of advice I heeded. I have known clarity from Amanda, when I have been lost and alone. As we hug, she nods and is ablaze with the hues of crimson that I miss without her on the coastal land. 

An aroma of lavender blossoms and elder flowers are complimented with rose petals and red clover mingled with spearmint leaves.

Following the scent, I see my tea-loving, tree hugger friend Sarah Kube. In her hands is a Tibet sea green dragon teapot, brimming with Angelwater –an infusion of serenity. I await the hug that will soon envelop me. The bouquet of her hair is steeped with nature’s elixir. Suddenly, from behind, I see a little boy chasing a Papilionoidea. The child’s sweet smile is of innocence and pure joy. His name is Jade and I bend down, with arms outspread to receive Sarah and Jesse’s bundle of love for the first time.

The forest is suddenly alive with glints of silver. I watch as the keeper of my words strides into our gathering. Standing amongst us is TJ Wallis. Her beautiful smile is parallel to her deep rooted laughter that I can relate too.

There is no page in my book that this woman does not know of me. Over twenty years of friendship, TJ is one of the few who was there for the glorious birthing of Sitka. Her loyal editing skills saw me hone my craft, sixteen years in the making. She is the one friend who allowed me to spill my fragments of arduous grief onto her publication she once owned: Okanagan Woman. On January 19^th, 2014, when again my pain erupted in the confines of her home, over the heartbreak of another- ever the personal advisor, she dried up my burnt tears and gave me back my voice. Because of TJ, I was able to turn all the heartache into healing through my writing. Now, as I hold onto my friend, the white flag of support that has been the cornerstone of our lives… is waving for her. 

 From behind, an unexpected guest drops in. I study them for a moment; a ghost from my past come to life. I feel the air escaping from my soul and then…my heart gradually begins to beat again. Christian is standing before me. His peppered hair is cast over a face of mahogany. The glints of his eyes need no introduction. My hands have created every inch of his stout features; the lines etched on his face, the curve of his lips. I have sculpted him in my mind a thousand times over…only to discover the bottled love of another was infused into the blood of his character.

For me, it was irony that I would find forgiveness for Paul, in layers of Under the Sitka Tree. The first time I edited my novel after our demise, I could have altered the course of Christian, yet the main heroine, Skylar would not allow it. I soon realized that Sitka was the gift Paul and I would be bound to amongst the pages. Beyond the brokenness, there is a magnificent spruce tree, where our love was once rooted in enchantment. Over the past few years, I came to understand that sometimes the things we take for granted are doomed to fail. That compassion does not always attach itself to goodbyes and words of misunderstanding can find new life in truth. Due to my unwavering faith, I know the grace of forgiveness between Paul and I. In bearing witness to Christian in my forest, I have created empathy in the heart of a man whose seas, now have calm waters.  

In my world, where memories are united together much like a jeweller takes precious pearls and forms a ribbon of splendour, I exist without the stigma. I am seen as someone whose praise of God erases the curses of my pungent words, when life crashes down upon me… where the allowance of being unique is seen as a blessing.

I dedicate this blog to those misfits, the eccentric outcasts, who live in their own world. I say to them...RUN into the arms of those who DO Love and Accept you for who you are!

In the midst of all the life lessons…

“Forgive what hurt you…but never forget what it taught you.”  

Click for Video: Paloma Faith - The Crazy Ones https://youtu.be/RWhJmi5oxXg

by TL Alton

Absolution of Iniquity

Willie
by Maya Angelou

Willie was a man without fame,
Hardly anybody knew his name.
Crippled and limping, always walking lame,
He said, “I keep on movin’
Movin’ just the same.”
Solitude was the climate in his head,
Emptiness was the partner in his bed,
Pain echoed in the steeps of his tread,
He said, “I keep on followin’
Where the leaders led.
“I may cry and I will die,
But my spirit is the soul of every spring,
Watch for me and you will see
That I’m present in the songs that children sing.”
People called him “Uncle,” “boy” and “Hey,”
Said, “You can’t live through this another day.”
The, they waited to hear what he would say.
He said, “I’m living
In the games that children play.
“You may enter my sleep, people my dreams,
Threaten my early morning’s ease,
But I keep comin’ followin’ laughin’ cryin’,
Sure as a summer breeze.
“Wait for me, watch for me.
My spirit is the surge of open seas.
Look for me, ask for me,
I’m the rustle in the autumn leaves.
“When the sun rises
I am the time.
When the children sing
I am the Rhyme.”

Song Maya Angelou wrote for Roberta Flack called “Willie”~ for Maya's Uncle, who impacted people’s lives in extraordinary ways.

 When I decided to take a break from the monotonous task of forming boxes, it occurred to me that I have moved more than a wandering gypsy, in search of gold and silver.

I’ve grown accustomed to upheaval in an unnatural way; Yet as a Christian, I am to forgive and harbour no hatred, even though what has resulted is my trust being bent and broken. I do take comfort in knowing that every single person along the way, I gave them something no matter what:  Respect

When times I wanted to let the hurt destroy who I am, I folded my hands in prayer for them...

There is a saying: When boundaries are violated and questions arise, it makes the perpetrator defensive in ways that exudes guilt. I can spot it looking straight at me…yet it is only after I am sullied once again, do I shake my head in disbelief of how I have been betrayed. While church and my bible explore the source of forgiveness, there is one person who I continue to gain understanding on her meaning of it.

A woman whose boundaries were jeopardized to such a severe degree, she went mute for five years, was legendary author, poet and civil rights activist Maya Angelou. At the age where innocence is something expected of a child just shy of her eighth birthday; Maya was raped with savagery and had to be hospitalized. The man, who carried out the crime, was later found dead. Maya blamed herself for speaking his name and plunged into a world of silence.
This did not stop her from unbinding her emotional wounds, to let her mind delve into the realm of literature. She read and memorized in half a decade, Shakespeare, Rudyard Kipling, Edgar Allen Poe, sonnets, plays and endless stories. What emerged out of wickedness was a mind bursting with knowledge and understanding.
Maya had a disciplined nature as a result of her muteness, which eased her into understanding the violation she endured, would also see her triumph. When she spoke again, it was in a manner that commanded attention. In silence she had been saved and now it was time to release upon the world, a voice that expressed much in a melodic way.

In my collection of Maya Angelou’s books, the revered copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings has provided me with the mutual understanding that rape, does not discriminate.

The defiling act colours outside the lines of classification, while bordering rage binds with evil, in the act of violence it perpetuates.

Yet Maya herself laid no claim to cynicism, as she entrusted countless others, throughout her 86 years of living. Refusing to let the fragments of one horrifying moment disable who she was, she grew from it; sought wisdom and absorbed the pages of words that would develop into her own legacy.

In my novel, Under the Sitka Tree, the fictitious character Evamya was crafted out of my reverence for Maya Angelou. The qualities of freedom, unity and value of life breathed into the jovial layers of Evamya’s spirit, pay homage to Maya.

For me, a warrior devoid of roots of her own, I drape the Survivor shawl of my existence around the writing of this lady. Maya Angelou’s own experiences drew from life’s setbacks, while her achievements revealed the state of her trusting heart.

You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. Please remember that your difficulties do not define you. They simply strengthen your ability to overcome ~ Maya Angelou

By TL Alton

Gratitude Inscribed

This year’s Thanksgiving was filled with an abundance of grace. 

I spent the evening of the holiday with my friend Lumena. Our paths crossed last year many times and we have been a part of each other lives ever since. 
I arrived with my homemade apple/raisin crumble to warm hugs and a beautiful smile. The table was adorned with festive autumn decor and her elegant dinnerware all laid out for the two of us.
We shared in a meal of turkey soup, bread, and salad. Lumena had poured us a glass of wine and over dinner we shared memories, made new ones and gave into our bursts of sudden laughter. My dear friend is going through health issues which need prayers. I am there to do all that I can to help her forget...even for a moment about her ordeal. Later, we watched a Christian film and indulged in plates of my crumble, along with a pot of tea. 
Whether we share in cultural events like the Portuguese Festival I took Lumena too, or stand together in church with our arms stretched outward, I am made to feel loved by this woman of faith. 

Later, back at my place, as I near the end of the month and pack up both my belongings and my daughter’s things; I am reminded that the gravity of the earth does not necessarily factor in life spinning off in various directions. 

Despite what seems to others as chaotic disorder, I carry on living it all out as a beautiful mess.

Using the gifts I have, allows me to share parts of myself through an outpouring of words.

One constant principle of my writing is the release it gives me propelling a stockpile of adverbs, nouns and adjectives tethered to communications into the space between — which resonates like a symphony. 

In focusing on what lays ahead, I feel no shame in letting go of the past, in order to revive the maimed heart that has beat inside my soul for 45 years. 

 I am in a chapter of learning; acquiring knowledge from my own personal library of books. I have been reading several at a time, while researching. I gravitate towards documentaries and recently had the chance (for the second time) to hear author John Vaillant speak. Back in March, I met him as he autographed a hardcover copy of “The Golden Spruce,” to me.

My original copy bears the disfigurement of betrayal across its front inscription from “Christian,” a man whose broken key in my heart, left its stain. Despite the defiling, I cherish the tattered copy as a reminder of how I let myself adore another with such fervour; it allowed me in the end to grant ultimate forgiveness. 

At the University of Victoria, I sat in a sold out crowd to see Hadwin’s Judgement — the story of Grant Hadwin whose treachery against the Golden Sitka spruce and the Haida people, resulted in his demise. 

While my first novel of fiction, Under the Sitka Tree, is centered on a magnificent spruce…the original idea was conceived fourteen years ago and inspired by the Three Sisters in Carmanah Walbran Provincial Park and the area of Ocean Falls, B.C.
I highly recommend Mr. Vaillant’s book, as it is a phenomenal read of hard-core truth, expressed on each page of a story that sounds make believe. 

In the past week, I have watched author, speaker and actress (best known for War Room), Priscilla Shirer speak on Gideon and the battle of the 300. She speaks candidly of how my own weaknesses are the opportunity to see God on display. 

In Judges 7: 7  And the LORD said to Gideon, “I will deliver you with the 300 men who lapped and will give the Midianites into your hands; so let all the other people go, each man to his home.”
Priscilla then asks what is your 300? Whatever that is…then that 300 is all you need.

Another incredible video I watched was actor and faith warrior, Jim Caviezel speak about his own ordeal portraying Christ. I am including his speaking at a church due to his raw emotion in delivering what he has to say. The conclusion is powerful and carries the weight of our world. 

Your name may not APPEAR down here in this world’s hall of fame, in fact you may be so UNKNOWN no one knows your name, the Oscars and the praise may never come your way, but don’t forget God has REWARDS He will hand out some day, this crowd on earth they will soon forget when you’re not at the top, they will cheer like mad until you fall and then their praise will stop, NOT God He never does forget, and in His Hall of Fame by just believing on His Son forever there’s your name. I tell you friend, I wouldn’t trade my name however small, that’s written there beyond the stars in that celestial hall, FOR all the famous names on earth, or the GLORY that they share, I would rather be an unknown here and have my name up there!”

– Jim Caviezel (Actor who portrayed Jesus /Yeshua in The Passion of the Christ) 

https://youtu.be/0Ejaw0F8-sY 

As a writer, my legacy of words strung across the globe will carry on through the channels of social media, yet in the end when I look to the heaven’s and envision my 300…I want to see my name inscribed across the palms of my Creator.

By TL Alton https://www.tlaltondesign.com/