Artist bio

Who am I? Well, some would say that I’m a city girl. A shy girl. A hard working girl. To me, I’m just a simple person with a complex and creative imagination that runs wild. For the most part, my body lives on earth but my soul lives in my head existing in different worlds and stories that I like to create.


House into a Home


Spoken Word

Artist Statement

I chose to record my video in the dark because I wanted my words to paint a picture.

How it fits into contest

Being follower of Christ there will be battles that we have to face. In the poem I talk about first meeting God and starting a life with Him. Along the way the marriage hits turmoil and a battle is taking place. For example the line where I stated that I am staring out the front door while He is begging and pleading with me. That line relates to what spiritual battles can be like for someone people, fighting staying with God and really using the tools to succeed at the battle. The verses talk about putting on the armor of Christ to be prepared for spiritual battles and in the beginning of the poem where I stated my house is finally home it was a way of saying that God and I can conquer anything together and during that process of us building our home together was preparing for future battles to come. I tried to think out the box with my work. I didn't want to be literal. In the end although sin did enter and that took place God's grace, love, and mercy was enough to carry me through. I also liked the idea that even when we prepare and do everything in our power to withstand a spiritual battle, truth is sometimes we fall but the grace and love of God is more than sufficient enough to carry us through.


Writer: Chelsey Gooden

Transcript / Lyrics

There I was, in the midst of the garden caught in its storm of perfect beauty.
There He was, in the midst of the garden gazing at my entangled webs of imperfect beauty.
His presence, like a gravitational pull.
My curiosity escaped, running to get to Him.
We married in the depths of the ocean.
Under the water is where things before Him drowned away,
Coming up, I was presented as His new bride.
His vows flowed from his lips like the sweetest of melody’s,
Hosea 2:19-20, “I will make you my wife forever, showing you righteousness and justice, unfailing love and compassion. I will be faithful to you and make you mine. And you will finally know me as the Lord.”
We laid the foundation of solid rock for our home to withstand any turmoil and turbulence to come.
The French windows remind me of his warmth every time the sunshine visits.
The array of decorations show me how His creativity flows like a never-ending stream of artistry.
The mahogany wood floors that kiss my feet every morning remind me that He has me in the palm of his hand.
The garden is brim with clusters of ruby-red roses that affirm the blood that he willingly shed for me.
He nurtures the seeds of peace, hope, and purpose in my womb so that I can give birth to His will.
My house is finally a home.
Though this marriage keeps me on a high, it’s not without a hurricane.
Along the way, I left the French windows open, allowing sin in.
My sin rips the decorations from the walls smashing them, leaving the glass of consequences scattered about.
I stomp on the mahogany wood floors headed toward the front door.
My feet become glued to the ground as I stare at the open door before me.
I hear his pleas, showing me our wedding rings that lie in the center of his hands where nails once were.
My eyes are focused on the storm, becoming hypnotized, lost in the circumstances.
I inch closer to the door.
Yet, His whisper has a hold on me.
If I leave, this divorce will lead me to my grave.
The door is shut.
I walk past Him, filled with too much pride to acknowledge the truth.
I lock myself in a room where I become aware of my shortcomings.
The memory of His love fills me with conviction knowing that I just sinned against the man I love.
I approach him with a head hung low in a pile of shame.
Unable to meet his eyes, feeling like they would tear through me like a bullet tearing through flesh.
Taking my hand, he leads me to the garden.
He lifts my head to see the debris scattered everywhere, but In the midst of it all, the ruby-red roses are left untainted.
We laid among them.
Face to face he whispers, “ My grace is all you need. My power is made perfect in weakness.”
And like Paul, I, therefore, will boast in my weakness, so the power of Christ can work through me.
The sun came out to visit again.
It’s warmth feeling like a gentle and comforting hug reminding me of the first time Jesus and I met in the garden and fell in love.

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