Glory Bridge Do you see me? Can you feel me? Don't despair I am always here. Crafted from your tears I will appear to colour your world when the end seems near. Do not look to me to light your way. For I bring life and promise to rainy days - as sure as an olive branch. To reach you I have to bend separate and come back together again. The light does come through but this is what is true: I must come to chase away the grey keep hopelessness at bay and bring a promise your way. I will carry you across the byways all the highways, through each maze. woven into each colour is a gift of grace. You shall never be alone.
Tag: Finding peace
Making Silence Count
Making Silence Count She walks No- She glides No- She floats, keeping her own council, looking neither left or right. Her goals in her sight never engaging in meaningless fights. She creeps along not afraid to sweep aside those who would jeer, snear and envelop other in their despair. She is impenetrable, impregnable. Her grey swirl of invincibilty cacoons her from head to toe They can sense her, but they don't know When, where or how she goes. For she can keep her secret. Her best friend Ms Descreet, will be with her til the very end.
Then Sings My Soul…
There are just some poems that move me to tears. So sentimental, that all those moments from the past just come rushing back. This is the case with, It was the Singing, by Jamaican poet, Edward Baugh. Those nostalgic poems that make you hopeful and tearful at the same time. Tearful because your heart has been full for a while but you never knew how to release the pain, hurt and disappointment that has been piling up and this poem comes along and gives you the grace and permission to finally let it all go. The poem reminds me of the need for community to share with us those burdens we cannot bear alone and a blessing that can be found in the face of tragedy. They contain powerful words that can soothe the soul, and bring us the peace of mind we need even as we grieve.
It was the Singing It was the singing, girl, the singing, it was that full my throat and blind my eye with sunlight. Parson preach good, and didn't give we no long-metre that day and Judge Hackett make us laugh to hear how from schoodays Gertie was a rebel and everybody proud how Sharon talk strong about her mother and hold her tears. But the singing was sermon and lesson and eulogy and more, and it was only when we raise "How Great Thou Art" that I really feel the sadness and the glory, wave after wave. Daddy Walters draw a bass from somewhere we never hear him go before, and Maisie lift a descant and nobody ask her, but it was the gift they bring., it was what they had to give and greater than the paper money overflowing the collection plate. It was then I know we was people together, never mind the bad-minded and the carry -down and I even find it in my heart to forgive that ungrateful Agnes fir everything she do me and I sing and the feelings swelling in my chest till I had to stop and swallow hard. Then sings my soul, my saviour God to thee, How great thou art, how great thou art... and we was girls again together, Gertie and me by the river, and then the singing was like a wide water and Gertie laughing and waving to me from the other side. Girl, I can't too well describe it. Was like the singing was bigger than all of we and making us better than we think we could be, and all I asking you, girl, is when my time come to go, don't worry make no fuss bout pretty coffin and no long eulogy, just a quiet place where gunman and drug addict don't haunt, and if they sing me home like how they sing Gertie I say thank you Jesus, my soul will sleep in peace.
Broken Chains Cracked Splintered Scattered Lost chained... On my knees twisted by the weight of too much to carry far. What must I do? If I could stand I would be wider than the seas. There would be limitless depths to me. But on the shallow tide I must cling. I have no choice. Held down by powers greater than me I weep... Can they hear me? If so why don't they come? Why? Slowly, every so slightly, I feel a crack against the puckered skin left to fall off the bones. But - A fire burns A fire rages on A fire that destroys the fear A fire that promises release A fire that burns away the chains A fire that ignites the pain that will help me be me again.
Unending Love I have died several times. I have been beaten countless times. Left bloody the earth swallowed my life's essence gone. Yet I am still here. I have been lost countless times parched delirious emaciated. I tasted defeat constantly. stabbed in the back I bleed relentlessly. Yet I am still here. In the dark I was stripped to my bare bones. pecked and picked at I was a tattered mess. Blinded by fear I have been mocked and jeered. I have been left to crawl across molten lava. Yet I am here! Defeated in battle abandoned by the troops through Sargasso wide and far I have weaved. Left behind too slow for the "we" I was made a pariah A bud balling for release. Yet I am here! Yet I am here! Yet I am here! How?
Song in My Heart
Song in My Heart So faint and distant it comes from a ghostly realm where dreams go to die and are no more. It beats out of step behind a moldy door left to fester and perish no oxygen given a place where no hope liveth. But the song the song is in my heart covered under all the cobwebs have almost pushed it out into the cold... Then sings my soul... The song hangs on clings to the last thread of stubborn will. Or maybe a Spirit? But I must bring forth this song. Oh the song! From generational curses I must unearth this song. Oh the song! From death and hate I must dig up the song. Oh the song! The song the song! It refuses to die. It changes shape and space but it remains the same. A symphony of strange sounds proclaims its immortality. It rushes out from the dark places, requires me to sing victory. Because this song will never die neither will I. It is perfect it is true it is faithful All this also I must be too. I must find my new yellow brick road to claim my song. Lost to me But never forgotten, stolen but able to be restored. My song- only I can sing it - the right way. Oh the song!
Though the Righteous Fall Seven Times They Rise Again…
I’m sure there are many guilt-filled persons walking around who have not allowed themselves to be persecuted in the court of public opinion, but who have gone ahead and condemned themselves and exacted punishment. Guilt is a burden that many find hard to bear, but many carry. The thought that “I made a mistake” or “I did something wrong”, can be the nail that seals a life of misery from which a person can never recover.
So many are so concerned with doing good and making sure they toe the line, they eventually have a nervous breakdown and destroy that image constructed by one foolish act – at least this is how they see things. They do not believe they can be redeemed after those mistakes and either lash out at others or lash out at themselves. The reality though, is that we all do things that will cast doubt on our “good”l image that we have spent so long constructing. For some being good has become a full time job and they have traded genuineness for fakeness. We become okay with persons who project what we expect and not who they truly are and expect others to be and act perfect when they were never meant to be that way. If we are good maybe it is okay to judge others, to relegate some to “those people”, who we will never be like.
If we accept that we a imperfect beings, then when we fall we can recovery quicker. We can accept that our failures do not define us but can transform us, help us grow and flourish, then we can better survive the storms of life. Guilt, will not take root and eat us alive – stifling our potential. Then we would know that there is life after those mistakes and that those mistakes will not have power over us. Instead of aiming for perfection, what we need to do is be honest on our journey, expect honesty and nothing more. Know that persons will disappoint you and be okay with this because they were never perfect to begin with and they should not have to be something they by nature are not.
Don’t strive to be perfect but to be an overcomer. It is better to have failed and learned from that failure than to remain stuck on impossibilities that cause you to fail. For it is in falling and failing many times that you will ascend to where you are truly meant to be:
for though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again,
but the wicked stumble when calamity strikes.