#85: Of King’s and Commoners

With the 2016 election having been in full swing for what feels like the past year and a half it is about time to make a decision. For me, I'll be deciding based on who best fits the description in the poem below, granted whoever wins won't become king/queen, but still.

My hope for our next President is that they are characterized by an ability to lead with humility and grace. That they help conditions for the lower and middle class along with improving our relationship with foreign countries where the relationship is strained. I hope that they are true to their word and are sensible with their promises and proclamations. In short, whichever candidate is more like Jesus.

If power is great that a single man wields
Then it is imperative that he go down to the fields
To see the laborers, do they work with pride?
Or are they simmering with anger on the inside?
If the king cannot observe and discern
About the greatest of his laborers’ concern
Then that king does not belong on the throne
For he must serve the will of the laborers, not his own

#84: Forgive me for my lack of trust

In the Bible, in the book of Ephesians, the author Paul makes one of the most profound statements ever made. He says, "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God, not by works, so that no one can boast."

So what is grace? It is unmerited favor. 

Why is it so key to understanding God's love? Because we can't experience God's love on our own merit. Having a relationship with God begins by receiving God's grace, and from there, it never ends. But in this life, here on this earth, grasping this concept is difficult. Not because the concept is abstract but because it stands in contrary to how the world works.

On earth, honest people earn things. They work hard and they get what they deserve. A dishonest person may cheat or lie to get ahead, but when they don't play by the world's rules, their dishonesty fails them. But to know and experience God has nothing to do with earning it and everything to do with accepting the grace that God gives.

So an honest man cannot know God unless he accepts God's grace, same as a dishonest man. So why then is it still a struggle to grasp God's love even after accepting God's perfect grace? Probably because it take's time for that grace to transform us. We still adhere to how it works here on earth. We're trying to earn our grace even though its not necessary or even possible. 

Life may get busy

But I can’t be excused

For the grace that’s been given

The grace I've abused

It more precious then gold

This grace that is true

It will still be a part of me

When my life is through

Yet my life is a mess

I've let myself down

My soul is in shambles

I cannot see your crown

My sin takes your cup

Kicks it down in the dirt

My continuous pride

Brings nothing but hurt

But grace is by definition

So perfect and pure

The words of my savior

My savior so sure

#83: Not Mine

If I were to be honest, poems are less like an invention, and more like a discovery. The words existed long before I ever did and they will live on long after I leave this world. And the concepts are forged from either human experience or a swell of madness in my mind. I can't quite grasp why certain ideas pop in to my head but when the inspiration is there, it is a chance to seize the creative opportunity. If the inspiration was born out of experience, I thank God for the experience, if it was born out of madness, I thank God for the inspiration.

Once the inspiration is there, it's stuck in my head until I put it to the pen. When it's a great poem, my bones are on fire. The words just rush in to my head and fit like puzzle pieces. Eventually though, the inspiration gives way to reality. A word comes along that expresses my point but does not fit the form. I could maybe come up with a lesser word, or try to rearrange the words to make it fit. Or I could just delete that line altogether. When it's a good line but it doesn't fit, it hurts to remove it. But that line may fit in to another poem someday.

Deleting a good line from a poem is difficult. Finishing  a poem though is the greatest struggle. When the ideas are coming together and the words are fitting, I have to ask myself, "is this the best way to say what I am trying to say?" I could keep asking myself this question over and over but eventually, the poem just needs to be finished. Once finished, I look at the completed work and hope it makes sense when others read it.

Ultimately, a poem is written for two reasons. For the writer to express something, and the reader to understand something in a new light. When I write a poem, it is not for me nor are the words inherently from me. It is in this sense that the poems I write are not mine at all.

As words flow 

I don’t really know 

Where they come from 

The heart will bend 

To paper and pen 

I don’t understand 

All that’s within 

Is more than a whim 

This goes beyond me 

Words from my head 

Of a complex stead 

Are not mine 

#82: Ambiguity Will Ruin Me

It's easy to tell those little lies. You know, the ones that save you the trouble of having to share how you're really doing. It's easier to say you're doing fine even though you're struggling through something. Eventually you'll convince yourself that you're being a good friend by not bringing up your burdens to a loved one. This is an egregious lie. Your good friends will always want to know how you're really doing

Over time, the lying becomes a habit and eventually you will be left hoping no one catches on to what you are struggling through. You begin to live the lies and find yourself constantly hiding a part of who you are. Sure it's not the best part of you, but your true friends want to know the true you and they won't judge you for your flaws. In fact, they'll help you push through your struggles.

So if you find yourself stuck and in hiding, let go of the lies you have been propping up and let your true self be revealed. You'll be surprised by how much love will come your way.

Liu Bolin: Camouflage Artist

I’ve constructed walls that don’t have doors,
To hide the things that the world abhors.
I’ve lost all sense of what makes me free,
I strived to live by ambiguity.

The walls I’ve constructed are made up of lies
In hopes that in some way I can get by.
Without anyone knowing the pain that I feel,
I’ve gone on to live by what is not real.

I hide within, secretly hoping to be found,
Meanwhile my pain just drags me down.
Further into the pit that my own negligence has created,
My friendships have been strained, the closest ones negated.

#81: Through Your Eyes

Have you ever been beaten down and wondered what in the world you are going to do? Have you ever lied on the ground in tears and just felt too weak to move? Have you ever failed so badly that you thought your life was over? Have you felt your stomach twist so much because of things you've done that you felt like damaged goods? Have you ever cried out to God asking how your life became such a mess? 

This poem was written as a response to God's promises in the midst of being at my lowest. With literally nothing to offer except my broken soul, I learned that that is enough. 

Upon reflecting on Isaiah 40, I learned that God is incomparable and that what he values is different from what I value. This world means nothing to Him and His people mean everything to Him.

Ikuo Anazawa's papercraft

I am lonely, and this worlds owns me

But I can’t fall into these ways anymore

I can only fall down onto the floor

In reverence

In awe

Through pain and folly

You call all of me

Let my shaken faith awaken

Let my heart so tender embrace your splendor

Pick me up, higher then the sky

Let me fly from way up above

So I can see the world through your eyes