This was the writing prompt: All that I had left of my wings was a single solitary feather:

This was the writing prompt:  All that I had left of my wings was a single solitary feather:

Hurt, pain, brokenness – No matter what I do or how hard I try it never fails, I mess up.  I’m a failure.  Fear anger, lowliness.  My emotions control me.  Lost, dazed, confused.  How do I take my life back?  I know I’m not a bad person.  I can be loved… Right?  I was born innocent and over my life span I look demonic.  I seem to be attracted to deadly, dangerous and destructive people, places and things.  I know this is not the life I was destined for.  I can do such amazing things if I put my mind to it.  I have to change my perception on life.  I have to think about what I am thinking about I cannot start the race and give up again.  I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me; I am more than a conqueror.  There is nothing I can’t achieve BELIEVE THIS!  I’m stuck in the middle of a spiritual struggle.  It’s a tug of war, Angels vs. Demons.  I know I can live a righteous life but I am prone to the evil side.  What’s wrong with me?  Some say it’s my nature, I was born a sinner.  So what do I do?  I pray and transform my mind to think like Christ.  I have tried time in and time out.  I continuously fail.  Why try anymore?  I know I can do it for a short time only to fall back into the same routine.  I am doomed… not this time.  I got this.  The only stopping me is self.  Dust yourself off.  Pick up your cross and follow me, he says.  So I start studying and storing away scripture in my heart.  Now I can quote verses.  This is not so bad.  It feels good this peace and a sound mind are real.  Damn I am getting attacked, everyone is against me, and I am shunned.  Could it be because I am changing?  Is it me or is it them?  Am I faking this?  This sucks maybe my mom was right, she should have aborted me, and I will never amount to anything.  I need medicine to be normal.  Forget that, God can heal me, I am unique, and I am a born leader.  I was made to set an example.  I love and forgive.  I deserve love and forgiveness.  I am finally learning that I get attacked when I do well.  One by one the devil is plucking my feathers. I am an angel just misguided Damn it, I am down to one final feather.  I have to hold on to it!  If I lose it I am never going to have my chance at winning this fight!  I want to spread my wings and FLY…  You’ll never get to that point… It is OVER… No way I am going to win!  SILENCE! Now I have 2 feathers. Stop negativity the moment it comes courage to be me alone and when someone is looking. Now I have 3 feathers.  Hope I will make it to the end of this race even if one of the hurdles knocks me down I will make it over the next one with ease.  Now I have 5 feathers. Trust, yeah you hurt me but we all make mistakes.  I love you more because you are still here.  Now I have 7 feathers.  I love myself no matter if I always get things right or not there is no such thing as perfection.  My wings are complete.  My feathers may have fallen off but they grew back.  Even when it looks as if there is no way out God always makes a way.  Thank you Jesus.

Megan Burrell


One thought on “This was the writing prompt: All that I had left of my wings was a single solitary feather:

  1. Megan, because of you speak of the Christ, I will share this with you, which i posted just the other day on

    ‘I figured God existed, since the two angels who paid me a visit in early January 1987, and woke me up in the wee hours, told me, “This will push you to your limits, but you asked for it and we are going to give it to you.” I knew they meant the desperate prayer I had made maybe ten days prior: at the end of my rope, out of bright ideas, feeling I had failed in every way a man could failed, I bowed my head and said: “Dear God, I do not wish to die like this, failed. Please help me.” Perhaps as an afterthought, or as an ego thought, I then added, “I offer my life to human service.” Pondering that remembering prompted by the angels’ words, I then was stuck three times by what I understood was spiritual lighting. It was electrical. I saw bright light flashes. It jolted my body. I lurched with each strike. I was left shaking, sweating, as the two angels, whom I later came to know as Jesus and Archangel Michael, faded into nothing. I saw no wings. Just two whitish ethereal beings, in plain view, above me in the darkness, as I lay under them, on my back, in my then girlfriend’s bed, who by then was awake, but she said she saw and heard nothing but my body lurching.”

    Megan, sometimes I feel the angels lied; I was pushed beyond any limits I had, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed, in my life experiences, in spirit dimensions, and in my dreams – the angels never let up, regardless of how hard I work and how I do what they arrange for me to engage on this world; or me, they lean on me, as if I’m Superman, but I feel like plenty of Kryptonite is ever close, not to mention earth quakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, black holes, frozen ice caps, going through wood chippers backward and frontward, having my heart ripped out and stomped and shredded, seldom getting way, having my ego mashed and hammered to the point I’m terrified off pissing the angels’ off, well, they did a lot more than all of that, which convinced me they can do anything they want with me, whenever they want to do it, and there’s nothing I can to do prevent it. But then, in the Gospels Jesus did say his way was rugged, steep, the gate narrow, few entered there in, many were called but few were chosen, the harvest was great but the workers were few. I don’t think Christianity knows the Jesus his disciples knew, nor the Jesus I know.

    I was nearly killed by psychiatry, which I concluded was so far out of its depth trying to treat me, that it was back in the stone ages. Of course, psychiatry viewed me as in dire need of its help, and I viewed it as in dire need of the Christ’s help, and perhaps even more help than that. It’s a lot about perspective, but the bottom line, I was taught, am still held to, is how I respond to what life serves up to me moment to moment; that’s where the rubber meets the road, the grist for the millstone, which is grinding me into what I do not yet know, but I don’t imagine the me when this all began back in early 1987 would recognized me even today, so little chance of recognizing me whenever my star finishes running its course in this life, I’m 72.

    The angels, or my wearing out body, took me off of all addictive chemicals some time ago. I never smoked cigarettes, so that never was something I had to stop. I do better when I restrict sugar intake. I do not tolerate any artificial sweeteners. Diet can really affect brain chemistry.

    I conclude with a poem that came out of me the morning after I was told in my sleep the night before, “You will fail, but you might enter the Kingdom of God,” in April 2001, as I slept on a flattend cardboard box in a doorway on Fleming Street in Key West:

    I know what it is to love fully,
    have my heart broken by death
    and by loved ones’ rejections,
    Over and over again,
    So I can love even more.

    I know what it is to be engulfed in pain,
    Awash in evil,
    Terrified, enraged, despaired,
    Believing God has again forsaken me,
    Then be given the truth
    that again makes me free.

    I know what it is to doubt,
    Be lost and wandering
    time and time again,
    Then be rescued yet again
    and my faith grows deeper.

    I know what it is to blindly trust,
    Then be destroyed by betrayal
    time and time again,
    Until I trust only God.

    I know what it is to have much
    and be completely of this world,
    Then have it all taken away
    and be in the world but not of it.

    I know what it is to fail in this world,
    And fail and fail and fail:
    The world’s greatest failure,
    I can serve only God.

    I know what it is to give
    and give and give and give;
    I cannot stop giving
    because giving is receiving.

    I know what it is to explain God
    time after time after time again.
    Something demands I keep explaining:
    Maybe someone will listen,
    Maybe me.

    Best wishes,

    Sloan Bashinsky

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