“Bahá'u'lláh once compared the coloured people to the black pupil of the eye surrounded by the white. In this black pupil you see the reflection of that which is before it, and through it the light of the Spirit shines forth. In the sight of God colour makes no difference at all, He looks at the hearts of men. That which God desires from men is the heart...”

A Wail of the Chance


Love Letter #8


Love Letter #9  



A Wail of a Chance 


“You had me at hello…” 

Jerry McQuire 




Make me laugh 

(“Feisty ain’t ya sis.”) 

Make me cry 

(“It is incumbent upon the one who  

searches to drain the bitter cup of hardship.”) 

Make me aware that it matters not 

Whether I can pass through  

the needle’s eye at this moment 

Your advice, instead, 

“Sis you must try!” 


I came to you 

Not out of force of habit 

But because you 

Are the last of the last 

Of the one I can trust. 


Hesitatingly I issued the challenge, 

Giving you an out, just in case 

Your time was limited,  

or my request not nearly important enough. 


Though I knew you were busy 

I remembered too that underneath all those titles and facade,  

your real job was in saving souls  

so I wanted to offer you a chance to be successful at it 

(Cause I be always looking out for ya sis – no charge this time.) 




It is true, as you said,  

that I knew the answer before I pressed the “send” button  

to deliver my souls wailing call of anguish. 

It was a three letter word that just sort of popped in my head  

as the answer to the question that lay dormant in my soul, 

Is God here? And doesn’t He love me anymore? 

And the fact that He had given me  

Y.O.U. as a prospective respondent,  

          Was in and of itself quite enough. 

I knew that the letter to the Assembly  

was gonna have to be written  

even if you never received that S.O.S. 


Dag gon it; I lose again. 




As I sat in the library  

sketching out my letter to the LSA,  

I stopped to check my email to see 

just what exactly you said I should do  

in that original advice column.  

It was then that I saw your response.  

Should I read it here?  

Should I read it now?  

Would you tell me to grow a backbone  

or treat me with kids gloves? 

I was unsure, but as the email  

was from my best friend  

on your street in Christchurch,  

I could not prolong it.  

The agony of waiting  

45 minutes to walk home  

would be greater than any dis- 

ease your response could have held. 


Your started: 



          Ah, I am not alone. 


“Wailing call of His Beloved Handmaiden” 

Oh, if I could ever earn such a title as this 


“…What you must ‘choose’ to do to reach past this spirit-shaming, soul-embattled, ever-present mental anguish, and emerge cleansed, totally submissive to His Will … preparing you for service in His vineyard through all the worlds of God.”  

          If this be the appetizer leading to the Table of His Bounty, I fear I will not survive to enjoy the main course. 


“The flames of spiritual torture…” 

You must be clairvoyant, my dear sis, that being the gist of the whole damn deal, though prior to reading it,it had not a name. 


“… the tenacious power and steadfast certitude of the spirit you possess refus(ing) to succumb to the promptings of the flesh … the same spirit that knows God is the ‘All Hearing’ and the ‘All Seeing’ “  

Yes, my spirit has not forgotten His claim, but can such knowledge penetrate the heart, and when, when will it be? 


And Khanum 


“I hear when there is no answer, I see though naught is seen…Beat me down to the bare earth. Yet I rise and love Thee, Love! This is faith” 




“It is incumbent upon the one who searches to drain the bitter cup of hardship…” 

          Why is it so easy to forget this? Leading to a path of resistance… 

Shall I “give thanks for the unbearable torture”? 


Can none but Him ever suffice me? 


And if that be true, should I submit? Surrender? Obey? Or is it easier to run away? 


My ego fights like Tarzan 

primitive in its battle to secure good pleasure. 


God traces my steps and I am never a winner --- 

My consciousness aches and I become a rock dweller, afraid to be bruised by the sun. 


It is enough. 


I will make a plan 

I will try a new way 

Open my heart to the possibility of pleasing my lord. 


Here am I; here am I. 

Lord God in Heaven 


Like the ocean’s waves that I listen to as I write this note to my mirror image, 

 or maybe just to myself. 

I will never cease 

I will be consistent 

I will be calm at your bidding 

And I will roar at Thy command 


It is enough that you love me. 


It is enough … 

And, thank you, for thy servant 

Who cared enough to respond 


As my debt to her grows, 

Grant her the strength  

To pardon this child 

That she too might 

Receive pardon for her lifelong battle with 

Wut less ness. 


I love you, Debbie Joon 


O Counsellor, My Sistah Friend. 



5 june 07 Carlsbad by the Sea 2:00 pm. 


9 Love Letters Series
Love Letter #2: Vying
Love Letter #4: Bliss--9 Love Letters
Love Letter #5: Souls Alighting His Path
Love Letter #7: Mirror Image
Love Letter #8: Running from DK
Love Letter #9: A Wail of the Chance


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