When I first started sharing some of my poetry on this site, I swore to myself that I would never share this one. Because when I read it now I cringe and think about how awful it is. How it seems to be an example of everything a poem should not be from all my years of studying Literature and getting a degree in English. I recently changed my mind about sharing it and I’ll explain why below. But first, here is the very poorly written first poem of my life.
God's Creation
God created us all
Winter, Summer, Spring, and Fall.
He created the sun so bright,
That comes up in the morning and goes
down at night.
He created trees with little green leaves.
He created voices to talk,
And legs to walk.
He created our sphere,
And divided it into hemispheres,
So we could live a good life,
Without any strife.
I’s okay if you cringed when you read it as well. I forgive you. It’s not great and it’s not full of beauty. Forced rhyme scheme. No imagery. Tells instead of shows. I could go on and on.
Except that I’ve come to realize that there is beauty in that poem. But to recognize that beauty you have to know that I wrote that poem in 1979 at the ripe old age of 9 years old. So now, the beauty to me is found in acknowledging, remembering, and respecting the fact that a 9 year old girl was trying her best to figure out who God was, what knowing who God was meant to her personally, and even what that meant to everyone else around her. That 9 year old girl was trying to find meaning and purpose in her life. Perhaps awkwardly, but at least she was trying. As an aside, this is about the same age of my life that I was trying to decide whether when I grew up if I wanted to be a bread truck driver or a missionary. I’ll share that story in a later post. It’s a great lead-in to the Call Story that I’ve had to share and present to others recently in my journey into ministry.
I often wonder what it would be like now, 44 years later, to go back in time and talk to that young girl. I wonder how she would feel if I told her that her search for answers, purpose, and meaning, and questions about God would still be ongoing. That even now that search is not complete. Would she find the news exciting and challenging, anticipating a life-long search of knowledge and learning? Or would she be discouraged and disappointed to discover that even that many years later she would still be struggling to know who she was and what she was suppose to be in relation to God? And even trying to figure out the mystery of this God in her life and others.
Perhaps, and most likely, it would be a little bit of both just as it is for me today. Sometimes the prospect of studying, thinking, struggling to discover new things is exciting and challenging. Other days I wake up and think, “This again? Life is too hard. I’m tired of trying to figure it all out.”
The one thing I do know is that I do still believe there is a God who created us all. And though the poem doesn’t possess the word “Love” in it, I do think that my 9 year old self was trying to say there is a God that loves us. And that is what my 53 year old self is still trying to say today. Both to others and to myself. Most days I still kind of do so in a very awkward manner. But beauty is found in the attempt and the earnestness and not necessarily always in the manner of conveyance. I pray that even the worst sermon I ever preach, whether in words or actions, still somehow conveys the love of God to someone. I’ve embraced (well mostly embraced) the fact that I’m always going to feel awkward in this world. But if God can use that awkwardness, I feel like all the worry, searching, and longing will be worth it in the end.
Notes from a Book Nerd 