Sarah sat by the bank of the river,
lost in thoughts... sorrow, secrets, fear clouded her mind.
She had come thus far to give up, to throw all she had worked for away.
Back at home, her parents had been making out time together.
She loved her family, just as they loved her; but nobody ever seemed to understand.
She bubbled with exuberance wherever she went, gaining the admiration of the crowd.
Yet amidst all, there seemed to be a small piece missing from her heart,
she felt it, she knew it, she tries to fill it but it remains in that imperfect shape and contour.
She had made a deadly mistake that she was going to forever regret,
when she needed direction, she was just too short to reach it.
Her actions spoke in loud volumes,
neither her family nor friends could listen.
She yearned for solace, ever trying to find the missing piece.
Deep within, her souls cries out to be understood.
"Please listen to me, stay with me and understand me"
that she cried out to whoever cared to hear.
I know God heard her.
At 10 I wanted to be an artist, practiced a hysterical form of Christianity, talked to trees, and turned a sunset at a local park into a visionary experience. My great-aunt lured me to Evangelical Christianity with the strangeness of Gospel stories where Jesus always ended up angry at his disciples’ failure to understand. I sympathized with being misunderstood, and latched on. Besides, Christianity was a forbidden fruit in Soviet Russia so I had to worship in secret. This was unnerving but also alluring. I was a breathless romantic who wanted to be surprised by a knight on a white horse. From the early ‘80s to the early ‘90s, my childhood was formed by the images, atmosphere, and allusiveness of Soviet songs. I grew up in an artistic family where emotions flew high. I was the kind of imaginative child who could spin an entire tale from an oblong stain on the kitchen table. But there’s more to it than that. My family was not always idealistic or romantic, especially not in New York in...
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