Happy Sunday friends.
Today’s guest post is written by a beautiful soul named Rachel Franklin. I met Rachel few months ago At the Barn and I was taken with her outward beauty and then reeled in with her warmth. She writes in a way that I can only dream of writing, so read her words slowly, maybe twice, if you need to, but soak them in. And then show her some love. Y’all are good at the love part.
IF God is real then…
You are not.
What about how I am created by God? What about how I can pinch my skin, or yours? Clearly I
am real, you say.
Will you stay with me here for a moment? Go to the beginning?
It happens when her eye twitches. She takes two pills, for a Gamma test, ten minutes prior. Both her eyes do some crazed acrobatics, her hazel pools ripple as the room dips in its toes. There are times she sees clearest when orientation is dizziest. The room spins and two realties merge prismatically. Two worlds twirl into one like a lovers dance, a wooing. This feels realest to her: boundless dynamic shapes splaying images and places she has yet to learn. The dogs
sigh, as a pair, and she takes it as the pronunciation of the final sentence: this is what it is to see.
We forget, though, do we not? Our souls form cataracts, blind standpoint, and we flail.
When we suppose we cannot see, we feed envy and selfishness and lies. This is a hard truth.
There is gluttony in our eyes; overfilling can kill without perforating skin and be executed
without food. We can be bloated, with no room to believe. And it aches at the back of our eyes
to see how we strain to “Look at [Jesus], and be saved.” (Isaiah 45:22)
I should say it. I aim to consider seeing what I cannot affect, to stop the wincing at What Ifs.
I long to consider seeing not in order to blur and alter the composition, but to cherish the intricate lace pattern laid by His love. To focus the image, frame it inside my flesh lids, and look upon the creation of mystery, changed. I want this sight as a soapy loofa for body and soul, washing me clean. I rinse, and it is clear again.
I do not need more; I need memory. The Laser Beam shaves off the clouded layer, renews
faculty, and engraves. I witness heaven as I turn the world inside out; cut through, peel
backward, and let go. There in the exposed roots and motives and workings, I rotate sight
line the right way. The unearthed sprinkles my face. As blood rushes to my head, I
remember again: the way my Father sees is not how I see. His bearings are not my own.
If God sees pure like this, and I trust God exists as all possible realness, then, in the highest
manner, God is real and I am not.
“But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being
transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as from the Lord, the Spirit.” (2
God is all the trillions of moments and our eyes become a black holes if we let them. But we
can open our round glass and let the whole masterpiece burst them to refractive crystal as
For if we determine not to see “anything among [us] save for Jesus Christ, and Him crucified,”
the reflection will be. We are what we see. We are saved from our own image.
You explode out of yourself and discover.
IF God is real then you are not.
“Now get up and stand on your feet. I have appeared to you to appoint you as a servant and as a witness of what you have seen and will see of me.” (Acts 26:16)
Rachel Franklin is a twenty-seven-year-old wife, writer, and artist. In 2010 she spent a year within the four walls of her home. Since then, life has been autoimmune diseases including
chronic Epstein Barr Virus. But beyond this? Each day Rachel’s slaying limitations and studying the freedom rising like dawn. She’s not giving up on resurrecting freedom. You can join her at www.RachelFranklinWrites.com