Sunday, March 27, 2016

"If He Only Knew." - The Father

I know He thinks I've forsaken Him because He is face to face with His fate.
If only He knew I had to turn a deaf ear in order to make Him great. 

I know He thinks He I am gone from Him because He is numb with pain.
If only He know I had to reject Him in order to accept you in your shame. 

I know He thinks I've abandoned Him because He can no longer hear my voice.
If only He knew I had to shut up in order to give you Salvation's choice. 

I know He thinks I've turned my back on Him because He can no longer feel my touch.
If only He knew I had to walk away from Him because I love you so very much. 

I know He thinks I can no longer hear Him because He screams out loud at the sky. 
If only He knew how proud I was. My holy and royal Son, for sinners, would die. 

I know He thinks I can longer see Him because I've let them beat Him beyond measure.
If only He knew in only three days He would enter into His greatest treasure. 

I know He thinks I no longer love Him because of the nails ripping through His skin.
If only He knew because of His obedience, He was wiping away the world's sin. 

I know He thinks I have left Him because He hangs like a murderer to die.
But I know my Son will soon see I never left, not for one second, as I am living on the inside. 

I live inside of Him, His motivation to endure the cross.
I live inside of Him. All will be gain, my Son! All will be gain that You have lost!  

I live inside of Him, His ability to say, "Forgive them" as they beat nails through His wrists.
I live inside of Him, His ability to love them as they disfigure His face with their fists. 

I live inside of Him, His perseverance to not die until it is finished. 
I live inside of Him. In all of His misery, not one single person did He diminish! 

I live inside of Him, His courage to remain on the cross when He could call angels to slay His opposition.
I live inside of Him, His supernatural strength to complete His impossible mission.

Jesus, my Son. If He only knew. 
On the other side of His agony would be a forgiven, a holy, and a sinless YOU. 

"Seven Devils I Knew." - Mary Magdalene

Do you know a devil? Have you encountered one, even two?
Some called me sick, some called me slut, but Jesus called me Mary when seven devils I knew.

Do you know the torment I bore in the depths of my soul?
Do you know what it feels like to have within your heart a vast, gaping hole?

Do you know the feeling of being on Hell’s playground?
Do you know what it feels like to walk into a room and whispers lash out all around?

Have you known a devil? One or maybe two?
All rejected me when seven devils I knew.

I forgot my name. I didn’t know who I was.
I was what they called me, right? Oh, how Hell had me in the grip of its claws!

This one used me, and that one used me too.
Jesus loved me when seven devils I knew.

Seven evil voices, and they all hated me.
Seven monsters with their hands in front of my eyes, I was blind! I couldn’t see!

Many people had many names for me, the woman who knew Hell as her husband.
But Jesus called me by name in the midst of the seven and right then He stunned them.

He made the seven devils I knew come to know me.
I was not sick. I was no slut. I was God’s daughter, Mary.

On the day of His resurrection, He spoke to me first. I know it’s unbelievable, but it’s true!
The King that conquered death, Hell, and the grave came to the woman who seven devils she knew!

He sent me, the one who knew seven devils, to tell the disciples He had risen.
He sent me to share the news of Freedom, the one who had been locked up in Hell’s prison!

He made me the first preacher of the Resurrected Son. He sent me to declare, “All things are made new!”
Yes. He sent me, Mary, who seven devils I knew. 

"I Denied Him" - Peter

I denied Him. I denied Him. I denied Him, and I said I never would.
Three times I did it. I never knew I could.

I could have sworn that I loved Him. I was absolutely sure.
Am I any different than Judas? I’ve walked through a betrayer’s door.

I told Him I would die with Him, but that was nothing but a lie.
I deserve His death and punishment! I deserve to die!

I was with Him in His glory, but I left Him in His pain.
I was such a coward, and I am so ashamed!

I was with Him when they cheered Him on. I was with Him. I was in.
But I was out the moment the day turned to night and they yelled, “Crucify Him!”

I denied Him. I denied Him. I denied Him. It’s what I swore I would not do.
Three times I did it. What He said to me was true!

And then the rooster crowed, and this coward fell on his face.
I wept in bitterness. The disciple in me was gone without a trace.

I buried my face in the dirt, and I mourned the death of my courage.
Who had I become? In my soul, selfishness had flourished.

My tears wet the dust beneath me as I lamented the demise of my loyalty.
Jesus is hanging on the cross. Where’s Peter? He’s gone!  I’ve deserted Royalty!

How do I, Peter, have so many tears?
How do I of all people have so many fears?

I waited there in my grief, the countdown to my end. 5, 4, 3, 2…
“Peter, get up! He’s back just like He promised. The Master calls for you!”

My head ripped from the ground the moment I got word.
My tears dried instantly. Did I just hear what I think I heard?

Yes, I am moved that He is back from the dead, but did she say He called for me?
I denied Him. I denied Him. I denied Him. He called for me personally?

My God, this Man has loved me! He has loved me to the end!
Jesus, You're more than I ever thought. I cannot comprehend!

I denied You! I denied You! I denied You! I said I never would.
Three times I did it. I never knew I could.

You loved me. You loved me. You loved me. I can’t believe You did.
Three days of death and Hell You suffered just to prove it.

And so the time came when with confidence I asked, “Turn my cross upside down.
As they crucified me, I loved Him. I loved Him. I loved Him in my cross and in my crown.”

For Him, I died. No, there were no bitter tears. There was no shame.
I hung upside down proud, so proud to bear that Man’s name.

I, Peter, love Him. I love Him. I love Him. I never knew I could.
Three times I have said it, and a million times I would. 

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Sleep On.

He’s on His face crying out. His Father is silent. His friends are asleep.
Someone comfort Him. He’s contemplating the cross. Watch Him weep.

Heaven is quiet as it closes its windows. His brothers are still in their slumber.
Someone count His cost. He’s considering the cross. His burdens are without number.

His body trembles. It shakes. Blood drips and drops from His head.
Someone run to Him! In hours, He will be dead.

Eternity turns its back. His disciples will soon run and hide.
Someone hold Him! Look at His anguish. Look at the tears He has cried.

He’s lying in the dust of despair. His Father is silent. His friends are asleep.
Someone encourage Him. Looking death in the face, there’s a promise He must keep.

Like a worm He is stretched out on the soil, dirt on his lips. Everyone is gone.
Someone lift Him up. His soul is crushed. The King can no longer go on.

His body forms a cross in the clay. His Father is silent. His friends are asleep.
Someone, please! Help Him! The grief He is carrying is in His veins, seeping deep.

His lips shake as He groans for relief. He can feel the darkness of the night on His skin.
Someone, please! Hearten Him! This man is destined to die for my sin!

His heart is about to fail in His chest. His Father is silent. His friends are asleep.
Please, Jesus. Don’t give up. It’s only in Your cross that I will ever be freed.

He lifts His face from the mud His tears created. He pushes Himself off the ground.
He clenches His jaw. He raises His chin. My voice. He heard the sound!

His mind was made up. He would die a murderer’s death.
His mind was made up. He would love me until His final breath.

He gazed into the black sky, no sign from His Father. He looked at His friends hard asleep.
“It’s okay. This is my burden to bear. My charge cannot be cheap.”

“Sleep on. This is my price. This is my cost.
This is my moment to endure my cross.”

“Stay silent. This is my dark hour. This is my time to cry.
This is my moment to climb on the tree, my moment to bleed, my moment to die.”

“Sleep on. This is my burden. My pain will be great.
It will all be worth it, though, when I take Hell’s keys and trample its gate.”

The darkest of nights leave you feeling abandoned, your face to the ground.
The darkest of nights are your only assurance that your future holds a crown.

Everyone is silent. There’s nowhere to turn.
Oh, I hope you understand. I hope you can discern!

When life has laid you out on your belly to groan.
Here, God is establishing your throne.

Oh, you’re sure you’re dying. You’re sure it’s the end!
My friend, let me help you. Your life is just about to begin.

Hold on! Clench the dirt in your hands.
Can’t you hear it? All of Heaven is cheering you on from the stands!

To all of the things you ever thought you needed to survive that are now gone.
Look at them with Destiny in your eyes and release them.
“Sleep on.”

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

The Becoming

The Dying

I felt naked. When I arrived at the command center they immediately stripped me of my weapons and body armor, putting me in commoner’s clothes. They cleaned me of the dirt and dried blood plastered to my face and arms from the massacre of our newest adversary. I had just released my final arrow piercing the heart of the final foe when the protectors arrived to give me the news. I had been chosen. Because I was unconquerable in combat and the most lethal enemies fell at my arrows, our Commander-in-Chief took notice of me and selected me for The Becoming. I didn’t speak a word as shock besieged me. It had been so long since a fighter was chosen, and the Commander chose me. There were many fighters but only a few were chosen and, of the few chosen, hardly any made it. My heart beat harder at this news than it did when ominous armies rose against me. It never calmed. The protectors silently walked me to a door, opened it, gestured for me to enter and closed the door behind me. I felt the weight of solemn submission. The room was heavy with meaningful purpose and the power of choice. It was empty other than a chair with a small table connected holding an almost empty glass and a small piece of paper. I walked to the paper and picked it up.

Drink. Do not leave this room until the door is opened to you. If you do, you will not become.

I stared at the glass. It was the Commander’s; clear with a gold rim. My breath became shallow, and I felt faint. I was to drink from his cup. I sat in the chair and took long deep breaths. The instructions were so simple, but I was not so naive. Almost no one made it. The door was more attractive than I would like to admit. I was astonished at my fear. This was the greatest honor there was, but I was ready to run. I knew the prize, but what was the price? I would become untouchable, unable to be infected and deadly to every opponent. Thrill beat in one heartbeat, terror in the next.

Thrill. Terror.

Thrill. Terror.

I picked up the glass only to immediately put it back down. I pulled it close and instantly pushed it away. I shook my head ashamed of my weakness. I rubbed my hands together trying to conjure courage. I wasn’t sure why this never occurred to me. Even as a leading fighter, I never considered that this process was for me. At that moment, however, staring at the glass, I had to consider the fact that the Commander had chosen me.  That was more important than all of my ignorance. The truth. The Commander-in-Chief chose me to become. Finally, knowing at my core I could never disappoint him, I picked up the glass and drank everything inside quickly. The instant I set the glass back down my heart began to burn fiercely. It felt like it would rupture inside me. I opened my mouth to yell for help, but my breath caught in my throat as the pain strongly intensified. I pushed my hand into my chest as hard as I could as if to pull my heart out, anything to stop the pain. I looked for the door, but my vision was shockingly blurred. I was blind. Disoriented, I hit the floor. I pushed against the floor in failing attempts to lift myself. All of my strength was ripped from me in a moment’s time. The burning in my heart spread throughout my body, and I began to convulse. Every cell felt the poison. My organs cringed inside of me, and my nerves rushed the news to my brain.  More dominant than the physical pain was the ache of appalling betrayal. This was a set up. The Commander’s disloyalty worked like a dagger on my soul, ripping me apart one realization after another. My mind ran the scenario over as I coughed and panted with my head pinned to the floor, fully defeated. He made me feel unique, separate from the others. He chose me in order to lead me like a lamb to the slaughter to my death. He played me like a game, and I fell for every move. How foolish I was to believe that he would make me powerful beyond measure, untouchable and deadly to the enemy! No, the truth, he would poison me with the enemy’s venom! Anger rushed through my veins swelling my pain. Tears spilled from my eyes and wet the floor beneath me as I wondered why he would do this. I wailed. With everything left in me, I wailed. Bitter fury from a fallen fighter broke through the room, and I didn’t relent. My body rattled as my voice shook through my skin and bones.

Finally, I fell silent. There was nothing left. My vision progressively turned black, my breathing slowed and I gave way to death.

The Awakening

My gasp for air in the empty room pulled my head from the floor, awakening me from deadly slumber. I was alive. I could see. My eyes shot to the door. It was closed. My body was drained of strength, but I mustered up enough to crawl to the door. I used the wall to help me get up. My legs shook like a baby’s who was learning to walk. My hand touched the handle. I was about to turn it and open the door when I saw my hand. I jumped back, horrified. It was remarkably pale and bruised. I staggered backward in surprise when I realized my arm mirrored my hand. My hands at once moved to my face. Dread overtook me. I moved quickly to the glass that once held my poison. I gazed deeply into it waiting to see my reflection. My mouth slowly fell open as I met my eyes. They were hollow. Black. My cheeks were sunk in, my lips bruised. My hair was thin and faded. I looked terminally sick and distorted. In horror, I pushed my back up against the wall. What had the Commander done to me? I was afraid, so afraid. My weapons were gone. My power was gone. I was confused, so confused. I looked dead, but I was alive. I was devastated, so devastated. My leader didn’t want me anymore. My skill in combat was regarded as useless. I had been deceived, tricked by those I trusted the most. My protectors imprisoned me to die. As I trembled with my back against the wall, the note on the small table fell to the floor. I remembered what it said, but I picked it up anyway. I was dumbfounded. One word was different.

Stay. Do not leave this room until the door is opened to you. If you do, you will not become.

Hope. A small glimmer of hope struck my heart. Maybe I was supposed to be here. Maybe I wasn’t going to die. Fear. A mighty rush of fear struck my heart. Maybe the “Stay” was placed there to keep me dying. I shifted my eyes back to the door. I was mystified by the sharpness of my vision. Every etch in the door was crisp and defined. I could see every detail in the nails in the knob. As I marveled, dismay plagued me. My heart began burning again.

“No, no,” I cried.

My voice. So weak. I despised it. My body began to shake as the heat rushed through my veins. I didn’t try to move to the door. I knew it was too late. I curled into a ball on the floor as my organs began to cringe and my bones began to ache. I didn’t think I had enough to strength to do it again. Surely I would die this time. The bitterness birthed in betrayal intensified, and I shook with anger. I gave my life to the assignment of the Commander. I fought with everything I had without question. Shuddering on the floor in immense pain, I found great irony in a common quote of the Commander. “Loyalty pays a price.” Indeed, it does. I waited for my vision to turn black and hoped my eyes wouldn’t open again. My body shook uncontrollably until it slowly calmed. My breathing slowed. My crying stopped. I saw black, and I welcomed it.
The black didn’t last as long as the last time, but it also wasn’t the last time it visited. The pain came, the black overtook and I became more hollow and frail every time. I died over and over and over again. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but I was sure that my days had turned into months. I stopped looking at myself in the glass. It was sickening. It wasn't me anymore. In the few moments between agonizing pain, I would watch the door. I couldn’t get myself to leave. It was too easy. It was surrender. And, I was ashamed to admit it, but there was still a very small part of me that believed the Commander had truly chosen me.


Finally, the time came where my deepest fears became a reality. There was no becoming, only betrayal. The pain was so bad this time that I passed out and woke up multiple times while it shook me. I had never been surer that my existence was coming to a harsh, bitter end. I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t leave. I didn’t take the easy way out. I stayed loyal to the Commander unto death, which was my task from the beginning. I lay on my back and didn’t fight the burning. I let the fire consume me. I didn’t cry. I chose peace and stayed quiet. Instead of waiting for the black, I closed my eyes.  I chose this. I chose to stay. It was not what I could have ever expected or desired, but it was my assignment, and I was going to complete it. I was a fighter to the end. I fought myself when I considered abandoning my mission, and I won. As I lay dying, I smiled. I did remain undefeated after all.

The Becoming

My eyes opened, but there was no panicked gasp for air as usual. Air moved through my lungs with gentle ease. I didn’t move an inch. If I did, the ache in my bones may return. The heat may capture my heart again. The fever may strike afresh. I watched the ceiling, breathing. The details were even sharper, more defined than before. I moved my hand from the floor to trace the carvings. My back shot up off of the ground. My hand was no longer pale and bruised. Astonished, I examined both hands and arms. They were warm, golden, full of life, full of strength. They glimmered with beauty. I slid my body across the floor and grabbed the glass, waiting with hopeful expectation for my reflection.

“Wow,” left my lips as I saw me.

I was warm, golden, full of life, full of strength. I glimmered with beauty. I was no longer hollow and distorted. My eyes swam with color and power.  My hair was deep and full. It flowed by my face with effortless grace, and my face was remarkably defined and my countenance, daring. I didn’t look like me anymore, but I couldn’t quite remember what the old me looked like. I only remembered what that hollow breathing corpse looked like, and I was gratefully overwhelmed that it was gone.

“Oh my God…”

My eyes darted to the door. It was cracked open.

“I made it.”

Tears, much different from the ones I had come to know, welled in my eyes as I stood and walked slowly to the door. I opened it, and the light I was living without flooded me. The room was empty other than my weapons and armor hanging on the wall. It all looked like my gear, but there was something distinctively different about it.  How glorious it was! I never saw anyone in the combat zone with anything like it. A small note rested on the wall near it.

I have drawn death out of you. Now you can never die. You are untouchable, unable to be infected and deadly to all of our opponents. I made no mistake in choosing you for The Becoming. You have become.

- Commander

@copyright Jade De Kelaita

Saturday, November 21, 2015


What she saw could never be unseen, and what had been done could never be undone. She despised herself for her foolish ignorance, and she knew ignorance was an invalid, useless excuse.  Her blindness added to the horror, and she fought hating herself. The images of torture in Khaos tormented her and captivated every part of her mind every second of every day. Her reality had become a blur. She saw no one. She saw no thing. She heard no one. She heard no thing. She hadn’t looked Johnathon in the eyes for weeks. She hadn’t touched him, and she was deadened to his touch. No touch no matter how intimate and sincere could console her. Her fierce devotion and adoration for him was buried deep beneath her misery.

Sharp breaths of agonizing pain would wake her from her sleep every night. The grief was so deep in her soul her entire body felt its stinging ache. Some nights she would pull her knees to her chest and wrap her arms around them in failing attempts to shield the gaping hole inside from more plundering blows. Other nights she would grab hold of the mattress or the side of the headboard and exert every ounce of energy she had to try and exhaust herself of the strengthening agony. Her body convulsed, and her erratic breathing would turn quickly to uncontrollable sobs. She did not work to restrain herself. She had no pride and no strength to conceal the wound. Her heart beat like it would rupture, full with emptiness. There were moments she thought she would succumb to the torment and die. On those nights, her crying turned to groans and whimpers of utter despair. Johnathon would try to hold her, but she could not feel his touch. Her senses were numb with sorrow. Distracted with hopelessness, she would push his every effort away. He would sit up in the bed next to her and hide his face in his hands as he listened to her turmoil. When she would finally calm and fall back into a feverish sleep, he would lie as close to her as he could and place his hand in hers. He knew it would only be a matter of time before she awoke, pushed him away and suffered again.

One night, incapacitated with exhaustion, Elizabeth shuddered in and out of sleep continuously throughout the night with shortness of breath. She was fighting for consciousness, but her body would not allow it. Her shirt was wet with sweat, and her chest moved up and down in a violent rhythm. Johnathon had not attempted to lie down or close his eyes. He wrestled with her trying to grab her hand and hold her, but even in her unconsciousness she pulled away and withdrew into herself. When she finally awoke to the anguish, an awful lamenting began. This one was the worst, and he could not bear it. He moved quickly and put his arm around her. She pushed hard against his chest moving him away from her. He fought the urge stirring in his gut to weep with her.

 “Elizabeth, please.”

She didn’t hear him. All she could hear was the mourning of those locked in Khaos. She was too troubled to recognize that her wailing began to match theirs. He couldn’t sit helpless any longer watching her suffer. He wrapped his arm firmly across her stomach and pulled her to him. Her back met his chest, and she was too faint to fight him. He detained her gently, refusing to release his hold. She let go of her desperate grasp on the mattress and both of her arms wrapped around his, and she clung to him with all the strength left in her. He moved carefully with her every movement as she shook, and he kept his breathing steady. Using up the last of her physical strength, she rolled over in his arms and buried her face in his chest. Her arms and hands fell limp against him, and her sobs collapsed relentlessly into him. His hands remained on her back as her heaving turned to quiet cries, and her quiet cries turned to silent deep breaths. With her forehead pressed against his chest, the trembling faded. He knew she had to be cold as she lay uncovered, but he would not risk moving his arms from her.  He didn’t realize that Elizabeth felt the warmth of his body and of his affection. For the first time in a long time, she was aware of him and awake to his love. She paid close attention to his breathing, and she remembered his unwavering strength. Overwhelmed, she moved to sit up. He shifted his weight quickly to fix whatever was wrong.

“No, it’s ok,” she said through a whisper as she turned to face him.

He was sitting up leaning back on his hands at attention, and his eyes carefully studied her. For the first time in weeks, her eyes met his and she looked at him. She saw him. In an instant, the mental fog surrounding her love for him vanished. She watched him as they sat in silence. She saw her pain reflected in his countenance. She realized that as she was drowning, she held him under the water with her. He was careful not to move and break her gaze. He let each breath move very softly and cautiously through his lips. He kept his eyes on hers and refused to blink, afraid that if he did, her eyes would no longer be on him when they reopened. She had forgotten the power behind the sincerity in his eyes. She was speechless by her ability to fall blind to his irrevocable loyalty. She shook her head in disbelief at herself as she stared at him. She placed her hand gently over his heart. He fell into her touch besieged by how much he missed her affection. Her eyes were broken but steady. Her voice was frail but sure.

“I love you.”

Although he had told her countless times over the past few weeks and received no response, there was no hesitation in his reply.

“I love you.” 

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Brave Enough To Die

Point your fingers, growl and laugh. Make mockery of the cross.
Perhaps you’re too strong to hang on it, where all of your gain becomes loss.

Look! They’re bloody, bruised, beaten and scorned.
Perhaps you’re too mighty for your pride to be murdered and mourned.

What a fool! Who would choose naked humiliation hanging from a tree?
With our heads turned in disgust, all of us declare, “Not me!”

You can’t move your arms or your legs! You’ve chosen to be restricted!
Perhaps you’re too powerful to live the life of the convicted.

You gave up your majesty to die poor? Insanity!
Perhaps you’re too wealthy to crucify your vanity.

Rescue yourself! You’re God! Call on your Kingdom to save you!
Give up your rights. Perhaps you’re too brave to.

I was strong enough to come to the cross but not strong enough to get on it.
Why would I? It would slaughter my selfish ambition and confidently flaunt it.

I was brave enough to kneel before it but not brave enough die.
I was wise enough to admire it but not wise enough to bid myself goodbye.

I was mighty enough to bring my shame but not mighty enough to bring everything in my possession.
I was convinced enough to believe in the Christ of the cross but not convinced enough to make Him my obsession.

His indescribable love compelled me to have courage to climb.
I made my way up and lost everything that was mine.

He stretched out my arms and to His will and His way I am bound.
My feet are pinned. The Jade running after her own desires can no longer be found.

The greatest power I have ever known was found in dying to me.
Freedom that cannot be described, true freedom, is mine for Eternity.

I made my way onto the cross, in Jesus’ name.
In Christ, I found the courage to hang upon it, where all my loss becomes gain.