Forget the Jewels!

 Disclaimer:
The following discussion
Concerns a theological stake
I do not understand.
Whether, because of 
Absence or miscommunication,
I am only writing
On behalf of the confusion
Wrought by contrasting
True heavenly expectation
Vs.
Church idealism of discipleship.
Please read with caution
And mercy.

God, I plead with my ignorance.
I've heard that my first moments
Before Your throne
Will be ones laying down
A crown, decorated of jewels,
Rewarding my efforts
In being Your witness
In this world.

Is it so?

What people do not know
Since the moment 
I became Yours,
I soon became compelled
To learn theology,
To go somewhere,
Accomplish something
In the name of Jesus.

It was not enough

To just be.
I rather had better
Grow, substantiate
The righteousness I now have,
Follow the calling
Bestowed on my life.
And if I failed,
Then the jewels offered 
Would wither in the fire,
For an opportunity not taken.

Keeper of time:
You know how long
I have busied myself to prove
My worth in pleasing Your heart
In ministry,
In the workplace and world,
In the home.
Have I done well?
For the amount of good done
Fails to satisfy a quota.
I don't know whose.

Frankly, I have so many 
Voices in my head
Directing me what is
Supposed to be
Your will.
But is it?
Legalism breathes in my bones;
Every second of pressure
Externally suggested seeds
An anger that bleeds
Black and blue 
Ink.
Even at my best,

I am not enough.

All I have heard
Is how my effort will result in jewels
Forged in life, sustained eternally,
If only I would take the steps 
To honor Your Name
In everything
I do.

God, 
I feel like I'm being discipled
To insure I have stories
Accounted unto me
Glorifying the One who came to save.
But no matter where I go or do,
It is never enough!
I am still lonely;
And I am forgotten.

Whose glory am I fighting for?
I have been purposed
Toward a goal,
But should I be aiming
To sit at Your throne;
When able, invite others to join?

Is that when a jewel is created?

King of heaven,
I mean no disrespect.
But where in Your words,
Are my works supposed to define
My identity as Your child?
I can preach grace,
But no amount of time or sermons
Have cured this brokenness
Within me:
Wanting to be loved unconditionally;
A sense of belonging without a fight
To sit at the table.

I have forgotten
The impact of faith.
My mind knows what it should
Believe, but my heart fails
To grasp its reality.
For in one breath, I hear,
"Faith is all you need,"
But in the next, "Now,
Do the work God has commanded!"

Hell is not my home.
I know that.
Sin must not remain in my life.
I also know that.
But am I worthy of heaven
If all I brought was my desire
For You to be my King?

I know a crown is to be laid
At Your feet;
A wedding feast is to be prepared.
But will the Lord be offended,
If I only came in my rags?
Because all I have is myself.
Any stitchwork I attempted
Only resulted in bunched threads;
Uneven patterns clashing with color.
Any work I have accomplished,
Any praise gained...I have
"My award."  It is empty.

Nevertheless, if You made
A gown worthy of Your beauty,
I would gladly wear it.
Anything I could present
Will only crumble in ashes.
I know it, already.
But if You are pleased with me
As Your child, enjoy the matter
That I am credited to Your Name,
Then what work
You have done in me
Will forever be displayed.

When Faced with the Failure of Others

    It was the start of Christmas vacation, and what was on my mind?  Sure the expectations of last minute shopping, getting Christmas cards finalized, and getting excited about giving my husband the gifts I had for him.  But there is something about the holidays, that although it can bring much joy, can also usher a wave of remembrance for things lost.  Unfortunately, such was something on my mind.  It is no secret that there is an ongoing forgiveness concern.  However, I realized last weekend that the main problem wasn’t the sins of this particular person who caused my wounds, but rather, feeling like I wasn’t protected from those wounds.  There were only two things I could do: weep and write.

“Questions for My Hero”

I grew up with my hero.
He was the one
I looked up to,
Found my confidence in
And willingness to fight
Obstacles that appear
In life.

But they say,
“Don’t ever meet your heroes.
They will disappoint you.”
For all the good
You have done,
As I grew up,
I became familiar
With your flaws.

Why?
Why, when the enemies came,
You quieted your firm voice
In the name of them
Being family?
Were we not worth defending
From the barrage of hatred
Disguised as discipline?
You were supposed to be
Our protector!

Maybe, they cleverly hid
From your sight.
But maybe,
You remained silently
Resigned, because you actually agreed?
Is this the case?
Whether or not,
When confrontation came
With the truth,
You decided to retreat,
Rather than risk criticisms
Upon your own head.

How?
How shall we proceed?
Do I share with you
My frustrations?
Once, I tried…
But you rather
I just let it go;
Stop being so sensitive.
Just keep the peace.

But what peace can exist
When good men don’t stand
In the face of an onslaught?
Sticks and stones may break bones,
But words do indeed hurt.
Sometimes, they kill.
Will the shame of the past
Condemn you to resolve
Into a perpetual groveling,
Unable to forgive yourself?

What?
What do I wish of you?
Nothing more than speaking up
For those under your care.
Grow a backbone that seems to have been lost
When you quit drinking.
Of course, a strength
Coupled with Jesus’ grace.
But even He knew when
To start cracking whips.

For now,
I know I need to stand.
I need to speak up
When appropriate.
Silence protected you,
But it has been killing my soul.
I know that reconciliation should be
My aim.  However, trust has yet
To be gained.

The pain I carry
Is that you passed down
A shield to this maiden
Before she was old enough
To inherit its responsibility.
And now, that I am of age,
The responsibility is mine,
And yet, I’m either
Too exhausted or too angry
To carry any more.
You were
And are
The head of your house.
What convinced you
That silence was the best
Solution to make peace?

     Here lay the accumulation of tears that I carried for two decades.  Not that I had been wounded, but rather, that the ones who had the power and responsibility to protect me didn’t.  Where was my shield when I needed him?  Where was my hero when my internal self was threatened?
     And yet, in my tears, God still met me.  The day I wrote this poem, the overlay of depressed emotions lingered.  However, as the day drew to a close, I was able to smile again.  The next morning, I read the following verse, and because of the context I was living in, it hit me like a ton of bricks.  “Do not be afraid…I am your shield, your exceedingly great reward (Genesis 15:1b).”  God was, and is, my shield.  He is my protector.  Furthermore, He is a glorious King whose strength is mighty and establishes the world we are in (see Psalm 24:7; 93:1-5). 
     Unfortunately, life is not fair.  Expectations are failed.  Innocence is lost.  Betrayals come because of long-held resentments or birthed out of an ignorance that certain actions or wounds can harm.  Time passes, and with that, the reality that the responsibility that should be one’s, as they mature, becomes unsettling when one realizes they have been carrying that responsibility before they should have.  Nevertheless, what can one person do?
     Well, one can persevere without acknowledgement of the pain.  Sometimes, intentionally, as a means to cope.  Sometimes the pain is externally suffocated.  Anger usually results, and it bleeds in resentment years down the road.  I have found, recently,  that tears can bring healing.  It releases the anger I once hid.  But I am also learning that, although grief is needed for healing, sitting in it for too long is also not wise.  One can become addicted to wishing the past would change before one is whole. Yet, that isn’t realistic.
     God being the shield that I needed hasn’t resulted without its emotional scars.  It hasn’t saved me from pain, like a bodyguard would for a member of royalty.  Rather, His protection is more like that of a king leading a military charge.  His men know He fights for justice and what is right; the plans have been set, but the soldiers follow, prepared for battle, whether due to professional training or because war has been thrust upon them (cue Aragorn’s war speeches from Lord of the Rings). 
     God’s protection is the mature wisdom I should have received when I was younger, but am now taking proactively, because the present time calls for it.  Following my King doesn’t mean my past will be written differently, or that my life will suddenly be fair.  Casualty will come; a cost will be made, but because of the King, I know when I stand in His stead and protection, even where there may be sorrow, I can still find joy.  That is my hope on my forgiveness journey, up to this point.