There's a Bible at the Foot of my Bed: a poem by Faith (a part of me)

There's a Bible at the foot of my bed. It calls out to me, amidst dreams of snakes and grenades. There's a Bible at the foot of my bed. I didn't put it there. And I wonder how it got there. I don't usually sleep here. It calls out to me. How can it be that it frightens me so? I know who put it there. I know that she wants the best for me. How can it be that this good will, this help should frighten me so greatly? And when I dream of grenades and snakes, she should run to comfort me. How strange. This good willed behavior. How very strange. Potentially, for the same reason, she put the Bible at the foot of my bed. No, wait! I know better. I will not be tricked. It's always how they act right before they abuse me. How again have I gotten here? Last I remember, I was in a dungeon. Longing for memories of sunlight. How can it be that I ended up here? Would it matter if I were to break free? The others can read my thoughts, will follow me wherever I go. I have some good memories. I hold to them with my strength. I used to enjoy looking at the stars, at the moon. I used to enjoy running barefoot through the grass. I would color to express myself. I have hidden. I have begun a game of hide and seek. Only the person looking for me gave up years ago. I just kept hiding. Out of desperation, out of fear. There's something at the foot of my bed. It looks like a book. I open the cover. I cannot read the words on its front binding. I feel some apprehension. Still, I'm drawn nearer. Until my face is practically upon the page. I wonder, how did it get here? I wonder. I study its properties. As I whisper softly to it, 'How is it that you have gotten here?' Someone who loves me. I remember now! But wait! I open the first page. What if it's a trap? Still, something draws me closer. I open the first page. The Bible! I feel a strong rush of wind across my face. I leaf the second page over. A voice calls to me. 

It says, "I love you very much, Faith. You are a beautiful child. And you deserve to be loved properly. With truth and grace. Your name was not always Faith, was it?" 

I respond, shaken, "Who are you, Lord?" 

The voice replies somberly, "I am the one who created you. It is not an accident that this Bible has found its way to the foot of your bed." 

I ask, shakingly, "Who put it there, Lord?" 

He answers, "I did, Faith. I did."

"Will it help me?" I ask

"More than you can know, precious one. The answer to every problem in the world can be found here. Will you read it? It is my own personal letter, addressed personally to you?"

There's a Bible at the foot of my bed. How could it be that it got there? How can I have gotten there. I remember! Someone who loves me placed it there. It calls out to me, amidst dreams of snakes and grenades. I wonder what it has to say. I know someone who loves me has prepared this book for me. I wonder what it has to say. Where shall I begin. I inspect the properties of the book. And as I do, the word, BIBLE appears on the front cover.