There is something absolutely amazing about the poetic use of any language. The normal, functional use of a language is fine and just, but there is something truly special about the implication of figurative. From the literal to anything and everything, poetry and other applications of figurative and poetic language are magical. Poetry and its counterparts describe the thoughts and feelings of a person and people, generation to generation, from culture to culture, throughout time. While, poetry has not always looked the same, functioned the same, and received the same, poetry has seemingly existed since the beginning of language, whether that is written down on paper, spoken in a performance, or retold through stories.

The reason that I am writing this post is because, during this Lenten season, the church I attend has partnered with another parish and encouraged those who are willing to write a poem per day, and if not an entire poem the beginning of a poem or even a title, just something poetic, in attempts to allow God to reveal Himself to one through the vulnerability of a regular space of written expression.

To be completely honest, I was so against this even though I signed up to do it. I just don’t understand poetry, or at least thought I didn’t. The lack of set rules but with common structures and forms, patterns, and more that are common to broad-umbrella “poetry.” Finally, I started (a day early), and wrote a poem nearly every day for about two and half weeks. It began as the writing of testimony in atypical forms, to me, to then preaching the Gospel to myself regularly before I went to sleep (which was super powerful). Knowing that the God of the universe had planned these poems that I had written and the effect that they would have on my mind, heart, and faith, just go to show me that He is truly sovereign and is all knowing, powerful, loving, merciful, and just (as illogical as it seems to my mere human mind).

In the strain of doing things that make me uncomfortable, here are a few of the poems that were inspired by my Hope. I pray that they may bless you in the same ways that they have revealed the ways in which the Gospels have saved me from myself, this world, and the enemy.

Peace, Love, and Poetry,

“Discomfort – Variation 1”

“I Am Only Mortal”
I was born and now I live; breathing, searching, dying, moving towards the end, my end.

Anguish, despair, doubt, fear, hesitancy, depression, ideation, sexuality; flesh.
My body, my world, everything I know and want do NOT satisfy.

Only if I could try or be or see or know…
No, none of it is good enough, none of it works.
Love me? Who could ever love me? I’m not enough!
You claim to love me, but no one could ever love me.

Miserable till the end,
Only to see that He does love me. My
Refuge, my All in All, my Saviour,
The Most High God, the Lord
Almighty, the Great I Am
Loved, loves and will love me and it is by His love that I now live.

“Life in the Dark”
I walk constantly, but do I really make any progress? I walk the straight and narrow, I think. I bump into things, walk into walls, step off curbs, run into other people.

Blindness would be better than living in the dark, or does perpetual darkness make me blind? Can I even see? What is there to see?

Light seems so great, brilliant, radiant, clarifying, defining, pure. How can I see? How can I be in the light when all I know is darkness?

How painful light would be on my eyes after so much time in the dark, but there’s so much to see? But what if I don’t like what I see? What if I love what I see?

Do I leave my comfortable darkness for the revealing, penetrating, illuminating light? What would life in the light look like?

“The Cracked Door”
Light, it pours in through the crack in the doorway.
Illuminating everything it touches and the things left unseen crave its satisfaction.

Light, shines on me, partially,
Allowing me to see some through the crack in the doorway.

Light, from a world unknown to be experienced.
Pondering, if I could only find a way through the doorway.

Light, shadows a chain, keeping the cracked door from opening more.
Hiding how to unhook the chain.

Light, shows signs of movement, of life.
Moving shadows of people like me, I think, but too far to hear.

Light, teases me of what I don’t have but what I want?
Questioning how to get to the other side.

Light, approaches a person without a shadow.
Opening the door, unhooking the chain, introducing Himself as “Light.”