“How I’ve Been,” the final book in my Gap Years poetry collection, is available now!
Sowing Season
A seed in hand and a season of good soil.
I buried it in the ground and began to toil.
Time given away to a little thing hidden under dirt
that, in time, I believed would have its worth.
But then came a drought, and up grew weeds
that came to choke and suffocate my little seed.
I gave it some water, but felt so parched
while we both waited for the rain to start.
Showers came a month later, but to my dismay
came in such abundance it tried to sweep my seed away.
So I put it in a pot of dirt, hoping it’d survive
and that if I was lucky, I’d get to see it thrive.
But next came the thorns surrounding the pot,
and unlucky again was I, my skin got caught.
It drew blood, and tears came pouring out.
Anxious and fed up, I began to shout.
Looking up to the heavens, I yelled at God.
“Where were You when weeds came, and I was hot?”
“I did all the work! I tried but only failed!”
“Did You abandon me? Why can’t I prevail?”
He uttered not a word, gave me not a sign.
For a moment, I wondered if I was left behind.
But in an instant, I found something of worth;
A little sprig of His faithfulness poking out of the dirt.
Haiku 6
Roses can be red.
Fire can be as well.
Haikus are stupid.
The Prayers Of A Friend
Rather place my prayers in the hands of a friend
than trust that He will hear my own.
I put my faith in whatever answer He sends,
but it’s harder when I am alone.
Perhaps I think that I have nothing to offer
when it comes to self-petitioning.
Or maybe I’ve devalued the contents of my coffer
and need a posture for deconditioning.
I know that He hears me and longs for my voice,
but still, I delegate.
Maybe a small part of me thinks my prayers are noise,
something He will hate.
I trust all that He can do, but not myself.
Girls
Girls were made for dancing-
for looking silly but feeling beautiful.
Girls were made to be free
with tangled hair and painted nails.
But girls grew up.
They danced with partners
in ballgowns un-princess-like
and stopped dancing freely
because they learned “poise”
whether verbally or by example.
She stopped dancing altogether-
too busy looking for a partner.
Thinking she need be composed
until she has him.
Does she miss the tangles in her hair?
Why do we lose that piece of ourselves?
What made us stifle the urge to dance?
Does anyone else miss the tangles and motions
found in dancing so freely?
Or am I all alone?
I’d take a partner to dance with,
but I’m resolved to dance either way–
to be alive and free in movement,
to tangle my hair and look silly.
He’ll be free to join in when he comes.
Flesh Is Weak
I’m at church four days a week.
I always think before I speak.
The Lord’s word is always before me.
I do so much right, but my flesh is weak.
I praise God with all I have.
Give what He gives me right back.
I’m kind to everyone I meet.
I try, but there’s a thorn in me.
I try to walk in obedience.
Joy is what I try to dispense.
I do so much, not to be seen.
But in the shadows, I am weak.
I crave things I do not need
and think of people before I seek
the One who gives the air I breathe.
But He is strong when I am weak.
