Breathe! Awake and Live!

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When I came out of surgery, I came out fighting. They kept giving me more and more Dilaudid (Oxycodone type drug) until finally, I stopped breathing. The nurse, along with my husband and sister, kept shaking me and repeating, “Breathe Bonnie (Tekoa)! Breathe!” I would jolt and gasp like a person who had been under water for a very long time. I would awake with ice in my mouth, coughing and spurting to come back from the anesthesia and the drugs to stop the pain. Again, I’d hear, “Wake-up Bonnie (Tekoa)!” Each jolt would remind me that I was still here. I’d grasp my face with my hands in Edvard Munch fashion.
It’s sort of the same when we are depressed and hurting. When a person is depressed nothing is funny. Nothing has life. No song or laughter can bring you out of it. No funny movie, no beautiful painted sky–no amount of food or sex, or recognition or people showering you with their love can heal it. No money. No lover. No fame. No job promotion. No new shiny material object. Just empty spaces and a huge space that faintly beats under water.

In that darkest hour, we desperately need people to jolt us and shake us and tell us to breathe! “Wake-up Bonnie!” I can still hear my sister’s voice. My husband said the nurse told him they could wait in the waiting area until they took me to my room, but he said no, I want to see her now. The nurse had threatened to restrain me because apparently, I was thrashing. Crashing. When my husband and sister showed up they took over caring for me.
Coming out of a coma type state in the natural and the spiritual requires a team of resuscitators and oxygen. We all need people to fight for us.
Depression equals a person who feels like a giant blob that’s filled with pain and bleeding. People try and touch you, but it hurts. You look in the mirror and see no worth or reason to try. The voices are loud. They scream failure, loser, nobody, zero, fat, ugly, stupid, and worse. The pain and the voices make you thirsty for any type of medicine that numbs you. You do not want to come up for air or look in the mirror. You do not want to reflect on your wasted existence. You just want to check-out.
Jesus/ Yeshua said we should love our neighbor as we love ourselves. We need to dive up for air and pray for His healing touch. Sometimes it’s instant and the demons flee. Sometimes it takes weeks, years even to begin to wash the stained dirty skin and pat yourself dry, add the soothing creams, scented lotions, and powders. It takes time to find the energy to lie on a crisp clean sheet and hold yourself because everyone else’s fingers from this moment in time have bruised you, set you on fire or pained you to a point that you have welded gates of iron. You hide behind walls and become skittish around those you don’t trust. Which is everyone?
One morning you wake up and stare into the looking glass and you realize you do not even know the person staring back at you! You ask yourself a question.
“Who am I?”
“Why was I created?”
“Who will clean my teeth, my face, my fingernails if not me?
“Who will be there when they shovel dirt on my bones and whose life can my dirty hands hold?”
“Can the one who spoke it all and formed me in the womb speak to me while I am so distraught and blue?”
Breathe! Awake! Detox! Heal! Become who you were created to be. I’m shaking you now and I am screaming, “BREATHE!”
Didn’t all the great ones retort with pitiful pleas? Awe, Ruth, a woman my mother named me after. Listen to her words.
“At this, she bowed down with her face to the ground. She asked him, “Why have I found such favor in your eyes that you notice me–a foreigner?” Ruth 2:10. Notice her? The whole town had noticed her, including this wealthy land owner. Let’s look at few others and listen to their faithless voices.

“But Lord,” Gideon replied, “how can I rescue Israel? My clan is the weakest in the whole tribe of Manasseh, and I am the least in my entire family!” Judges 6:15.
But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” Exodus 3:11.

But David said to Saul, “Who am I, and what is my life or my father’s family in Israel, that I should be the king’s son-in-law?” 1 Samuel 18:18.
Awe, but of course. Ultimately they rise and their voices are heard.
On day two of my hospital stay, a nurse came in and yanked my oxygen hose from my nose and said, “You don’t need this!” She was gruff and didn’t smile like the previous gal. She said we will be back to remove your catheter. Then afterward when I felt the urge to go on my own I rang my call light but was unable to make it several times until they finally brought a bedside commode and by the next day I was able to make it to the restroom. Sometimes our cheerleaders are rough and rigid. At times they may even seem cruel, but I assure you they may be just what the doctor ordered to get you alert and awake.
To all my friends out there who have been in a funk, broken, bruised, hurting, unable to breathe on your own, I ask you to go stand in front of the mirror and repeat after me. “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” Psalms 139:14.
And Breathe!

Blackberry Jam

You see the person you loved. . .
The one that loved you back.
They’ve quoted the same book and sat in the same pew.
You know– the good seats.
The ones up close where the “important” people sit.
What happened?
They smile a plastic drawn on mess as you pass by.
No whispered hellos.
You know there is still love there along with the broken pieces.

What did you say when you caught your “Friends” stealing a piece of your pie?

The one you baked to a golden brown.

Sugar egg washed face.

They lie, as they wipe the filling from their mouth.

They cackle.

You chirp.

Broken words sent with arrows piercing souls or is it reversed?

Is it because one of you is so smart? Smarter than the other.

I think not.

One of you knows the answers to life?

Have you figured out how one should act at a marriage?


They all laughed at you when you said the earth was round.

You never laughed at them.

The Father pointed out that you did, and you washed more egg off your face.

They said you’d fall off the earth and lose your crown.

You lost that years ago.

A broken Tierra tilted sideways.

They whispered about you then too.

Only they looked different.

Younger, blunter, but not as cruel.

They said you were different, strange. . .

Morbid even.

The Sun said that he knew what was in man and so he didn’t follow them.

Herod came out to see a miracle, but my Father’s Son wouldn’t tap dance for him, so they put him in a royal robe and threw pieces of hate, mockery, and even their spit.

He created their spit– used it once to heal blind eyes.

He mixed the earth he created them with into the substance.

OH, THE PRIDE of man.

Run and get your state ticket to the fair, she said.

But I’m going to pick some blackberries and heat up the oven again.

I think I’ll kick up my feet and open my mouth wide–fill it with a cobbler.
A blackberry pie.

Scrape off the sugar washed face and fold up the sun.

The earth’s too round for me to run.

Too flat for me to spin.

We all sin.

We all fall short.

There are no perfect men at the election booth.

Even the Son said, “Why do you call me good?”

He has taken off my soiled robes and given me a robe of Righteousness.

I straighten my crown and cleaned my teeth of all the blackberry seeds.

I strap on my boots and pull up my pants.

I walk out to the garden and eye the tares among the wheat.

“Let them grow,” He said.

Walk among the living.

Let the dead bury the dead.

I walk into the kitchen, and I stick two fingers inside the jar scraping the side and tasting the blackberry jam.

It’s sticky sweet.

A Can of spam


Pack a can,
Squash a train,
Tap a toe,
Wait for RAIN.

Paper dolls and pinup gals,
Dresser drawers filled with towels.

Homemade soup and button down collars,
Pinto beans and greens called collards.

Priceless articles rusted through,
And you sitting there in your fruit of looms.
Look at your hands,
You mobster,
You beast,
Take a walk on easy street.

Send the snow and send me a taxi,
I’m playing golf with my best friend Maxi.

You might be slow and sluggish in speed
An IQ test revealed your greed.

And the right frontal lobe was stir fried and baked.
A can of spam,
And a pan of cake.
You ruled the world for a tiny spell,
And Patsy says’s we’re all gonna burn in HELL.

The dishes pile up like flapjacks in the sink.
Sticky syrup and blueberry seeds.
Glasses encrusted with milk soured stains,
And your hair smells like putrid worm soaked rain.

Your breath is a combination of mustard and kraut,
Pickles and onions, parsley, and beets. . .
It festers, it boils,
I tell you it REEKS!

I drizzle the olive oil in the Pan,
And eat your brain of tasteless spam.
Don’t worry I sent you some broccoli trees,
And a bushel of walnuts that look like matter,
And all along the stove egg splatters. . .
Taco shells and fajitas with guacamole,
And Patsy says we’re anything but HOLY.
I’ll not eat your chicken fried steak,
Your ham, your spam, on paper plates.
I’ll not wear your hand-me-downs,
I’m headed to the palace to collect my crowns.
The seed did burst,
The flower did bloom,
And you took pruning shears and cut me in two.
SNIP, SNIP, snip. . .

You underestimate the One in control,
You underestimated the size of my load,
My heart,
My passion for truth,
The fact that my mother named me Ruth.

I’m coming back
Yes, again I’ll RISE.
Like yeasty dough and all-purpose flour.
Like buttermilk biscuits with strawberry jam,
And Patsy says she don’t give a $%#@!

Velvet red petals bring an aroma of perfume,
And dead dreams in winter
Thaw out in June.
I fly words like a kite in spring,
Through the winds of my spirit,
Through the winds of my wings,
I claw, I crawl, I bend my knees,

This purple sun and red burnt clay,
May it SHINE through the broken,
Shine through the rain.

Storms can’t break my trunk, my tree.
I sway, I bend,
I dig down deep.
My roots stretch forth through darkened earth,
Pushing down and thrusting through,
Towards the light of the milky MOON.