"Then you will know the truth
and the truth will set you free."
Barnes & Noble.com
A Reflection of Love
Faith. Love. Forgiveness. These three words portray the truth found in the pages of A Reflection of Love, the powerful story of one woman's personal voyage of self-discovery through motherhood, career and relationships.
Finding herself a single mother, Frances searches for the plan and purpose behind her circumstances as she tries to fix her life, beginning a healing process that instead, transforms her heart.
Travel through the pages of A Reflection of Love as Frances learns about faith, love and forgiveness moving from the depths of despair to the glory of spiritual enlightenment, learning all about real love along the way.
It is a story that has the capacity to change lives. It is an experience that has already changed one.
"Peace I leave with you;
my peace I give you."
"I said NOW!"
Blindly, my fingers reach for the covers of the bed, but just as they finally find them, the blankets are ripped from my hands and tossed on the floor, leaving me completely exposed on the bed. Luke orders me to get up, to once again, "talk about our relationship."
Not wanting him to wake David, I use all the energy I have left to try and sit my tired body up, dropping my legs over the edge of the bed, unable to move anymore than this.
"Frances!" he yells again so loudly that my whole body jumps, until finally, I do as I am told.
It is David's fifth month in his new world, and tonight, my lack of sleep and complete exhaustion over our constant battles have taken their toll. I realize that my true power lies in conceding defeat, instead of trying again and again to change the truth, as gradually, what was once our war, becomes soley his own. This peace within me grants me victory.
It doesn't matter to me why he does what he does, I just want him and it to stop.
Luke becomes desperate for a reaction as I let him win his war. Its then that he brings out his video camera. Erractically, he begins to videotape me. Still receiving no reaction from me, except for the pity I convey for him in my eyes, he continues to test my resolve.
"I've been videotaping you. Now everyone will know that you're a bad mother and I'm a good father," he says taunting me with the camera.
Despite my best efforts not to be interested, not to play the game, I am curious about his evidence. I hold the video camera in my hands as he plays me the tape, proud at his level of intelligence.
It is shortly after he has returned home from a hard day at work, the focal point of my entire day and all its activities, making certain that everything is in near perfect order by the time he arrives home to his new family. I can hear myself busy in the kitchen, learning how to make dinner, as the video shows him, fresh from his shower, playing affectionately with David on our living room floor.
I walk into its view and sit down on the sofa, curling my knees beneath me and talking at length, all about the little moments of my day spent with our son while he was away at work. I am careful to listen as much as I talk, asking politely about his day too, thankful that on this day, he is in a good mood, and is happy to do both.
I look at this family. They look happy.
I see the girl that he was trying so hard to make into some type of monster, whose only crime seemed to be that she wanted that scene to exist, and for her ignorance to last. Stunned and haunted by its image, I put the camera down slowly, to rest it on the table, no longer willing or wanting to feel the sadness of this girl anymore.
It was all just so sad, sad for him and for me. But most of all, sad for us.
I stare down at the long grain that follows the length of his kitchen table, where we had once sat as he told me his story, when I had thought I had it in me to help him laugh and smile again. I bury my head in my hands, to hide my face from his, so he won’t see that the hurt I feel in my heart, has spread all over my face.
I take my hands away from my face, in an effort to see in his eyes the reason why, but when I do, instead of his eyes, I see the cold, heartless eye of the video camera's lens. He has picked it up with glee, after finally provoking a reaction from me, and is now recording and relishing my heartbreak, for his proof.
From a place of sadness within myself, my entire soul, so consumed with grief and hurt, finds a deep dark noise that begins as a slow low moan of such intensity and despair that its strength forces my head to fall back and my mouth to open wide, as an unearthly howl leaves my body. With a life and energy all its own, my soul cries out in pain.
Please don’t hurt me anymore, it begs.
Make it Stop, Make it Stop, my mind screams, my head still reared back and my face contorted by the pain, looking up to where God should be.
I feel Luke cautiously backing away from me, feeling his timid shame of the winning of his war. From what seems to be very far away, I hear the soft slow click of the camera, as he closes it and lays it on the table in front of me as a quiet offering of peace.
Using all my strength to bring my heavy head forward again, I stare in disbelief at it, unable to say or feel anything at all as, in a daze, I get up and stagger back to bed.
“Shhh…shhhh…its okay, baby…its okay….don’t cry,”
I console David as I quickly and quietly dress him, unsure if I have slept at all, careful not to wake his father.
Don’t think. Don’t feel. Don’t think. Don’t feel.
My body is on autopilot as I gather a few belongings, knowing only that I have planned to attend Easter service today at a Christian church by the name of Victory, that I have been watching in secret, everyday on television.
That’s as much as my mind can grasp; that today is Easter Sunday, a day of new beginnings, and we are going to church.