It’s a nothing’s working sort of day.
So much to do,
So much to say,
So many things that need put into place,
But nothing’s working.
There are so many things that need wrapped up,
Packed up,
Stacked up.
But everything’s slid where it shouldn’t quite be.
I’m the only one working.
But things you don’t know are occurring,
Bubbling,
Brewing,
Emerging in places you can’t yet see:
Don’t turn in your keys.
More things than you think are still working.
Tag: life
To The Girl Who Couldn’t Drive
Not driving a car made you less
Like the rest; I can attest this is true.
And living your life with these limits,
Led to doors you preferred not to choose.
But the unwanted path led to people
You won’t have otherwise known.
And things in your life you neglected before
Are thing that have flourished and grown.
Don’t look at this thing as a limit,
Though it will be hard for a while,
Just see it as something that sets you apart,
And not as a staggering snarl.
Often the that things that confine you
Aren’t what hurt you; they simply define.
Like an artist entangled by choices
Is set free by some limiting lines.
To the One Who Had to Finish Everything Else First
No one else seems to understand—
They’re going at it the other way
Starting with what they want,
Expecting the other pieces will fall into place.
And often it does—because people like you make it happen.
But in your proud mind it’s set in stone
You can’t follow your dream
Until you’ve earned the right
By setting everything in order first.
And the day doesn’t come—because you’re crippling yourself.
Because there’s always someone else
Who needs your time,
Could use your resources.
And you never have 100% left in your own pocket.
The day will come—because frustrations will build.
And something will click:
You’ll decide to dive in anyway,
Even when the water is rocky and deep.
You’ll learn by leaping.
Finally the day will come—and that will make all the difference.
To the One Who Confused Peacekeeper and Peacemaker
The peaceKEEPER
preserves things as she finds them
And tries not to cause trouble.
Though not the instigator,
The peacekeeper is often part of the problem.
Sometimes she will do anything,
Even the wrong thing, to avoid
Fights, conflicts, fusses, strained feelings in the moment—
Without vision for the longterm impact.
But evil flourishes when people who can stand up, do nothing.
The peaceMAKER
Sees what needs to be and works at it.
She prays for wisdom—but doesn’t always get answers.
She works to reconcile people—and often fails.
She tries to speak truth—even when it scares her.
She recognizes that there are times
When she needs to make waves to make peace.
And she must stand up for what is right, even if it hurts her.
Anyone can love peace, but making peace?
That skill is painful, but worth learning.
To the One Who Gambled on Trees
As years saunter past, you will notice,
The garden you set out to tend
Won’t end up as you figured on paper—
The crop will be quite something else.
You’ll go on to school, like they told you
And gather up all of the seeds
They say must be planted—these only—
You’ll get what they tell you you’ll need.
But you’ll wander around and you’ll gather
Other seeds ‘long the way while you stroll,
Alone with your thoughts and your journal
As you wonder if life could hold more.
But those seeds, you’ll be told, are not worthy
Of planting, they’ll most likely be
More trouble than worth, for a girl like you
Who had better stick with a sure thing.
Even so, you’ll plant all of your seeds there
—You’ll know in your heart that you should—
You’ll secretly tend with the most care
All the dear ones folks said were no good.
The school-seeds will grow fast, as promised.
The ones that you found will take long;
They’ll grow on for years, without harvest—
You’ll hear that they ought to be pulled.
Those scrub plants—so called—you will nurture,
And as years pass, they’ll be more alive
Than the seeds that were meant to support you—
As your trees crowd them out, those will die.
“They’ll give fruit in a time, if you’re lucky.
But who really ever can say?
The trees in that space are a menace;
They ruin the things that could be.”
But trees have such value, you argue,
To shelter and feed and to clean.
Our air, earth, and water—our heartland—
And our mind, they make calm and serene.
These trees can’t provide us this instant,
With everything we want and need,
But they do fight each day for a balance
Unnoticed, edge in health and peace.
It’s true, when you let a tree flourish
It can crowd out the garden below,
But the trees, I have found, have a value
Which stays—as the centuries go.
To the One Who Wanted Things in A,B,C Order
You’re trying to put tasks in order.
You have plans, but you’re patient enough
To know things must happen in sequence,
So you chomp your lip hard and act tough.
Then you work, work, work, work for that “A Goal,”
That one that just has to come first,
But it won’t budge at all, so you shrink up,
Feeling lonely and weak, without worth.
You have so many dreams, but you’re trapped here;
You can’t crack the door for the lock.
Oh, the things you could do if you pushed through,
But you can’t make it budge and you’re stuck.
You begin to despair and you panic.
The I-can’t-take-much-more shoots out pain.
You’re beaten and broken and empty.
When you peer at the goal, it’s insane.
Don’t despair; things do come for a reason—
You will see that when distance divides.
Don’t waste time; there are things you can do now.
Loose your grip and see what your palm hides.
The seeds that you hold seem so tiny,
Compared to your glorious dream.
But sometimes the small things are bigger,
Than ever you thought or they seemed.
Be content; till the soil; you have something.
You don’t know it yet, but soon you’ll find:
All the plans you conceive aren’t for nothing,
They have roots in a mightier vine.
Work hard on the “C Task” before you,
Though A, B, then C’s what you know.
Don’t slacken your dreams, learn this order:
C, B, A is how this goal may go!
The Third Road Diverged
The road has diverged in a crimson wood
And I don’t know which way to choose
Neither one points where I think I should go;
Lost, I stand in the dusk, confused.
The glittering sun is my only gold;
The North Star, my guide and lead.
Not all those who wander are lost, I hear,
Yet many who ramble aren’t free.
But I haven’t the time to ruminate
On what is or what ought to be.
The only real choice is before me:
I will stomp a new path through the trees!
To the Young Woman Who Feels Like An Alien in Bars
You’re feeling the fool now and wishing
Yourself more—like all of the rest.
You want to fit in and be trendy
But you feel something wrong when you’re pressed.
Your waver’s not weakness; it’s wisdom.
Your eyes see the truth: There is more.
If you don’t step away, you’ll be lost, dear
Pulled into a meaningless whirl.
Don’t waste time with self-criticizing,
Supposing it’s you who can’t stand.
Set standards for him and hold to them
Don’t build a foundation on sand.
Your doubting, this time, is not weakness;
It’s knowing this isn’t your stop.
There’s no shame leaving places behind you;
Ignore foolish pressure and hop.
You must be aware: People chatter.
It’s funny that you haven’t met
Those who speak twenty ways in a minute,
Raise opinions like gamblers grow debts
Will you ruin your life with one comment?
Never read deep in those drunken words.
They’re empty and worthless; don’t let them
Beat you to a pulp; hold that sword.
They can talk, but you don’t have to listen.
And you don’t have to trek where they go.
You knew it; you just wouldn’t say it.
Why not? Trust you might truly know.
That sense wasn’t fear; it was vision.
You knew you were in the wrong place.
Dull, pointless and dumb—artificial—
A futureless swamp to evade.
It doesn’t come round all that often,
But you’ve heard that small voice in the past.
You’ve met it while hiking in forests;
That’s the input you want to hold fast.
I hope you will let her grow stronger.
The voice that thinks deeply and far
And who knows she was made for a reason.
Who walks her own path, not the bar.
From the One With Writer’s Block
I got nothing.
I wish I did.
I wish I had
Some great gift
To hand over.
But today?
I got nothing.
Nothing—
To put in a website
Nothing—
To slap on a bumper sticker
Nothing—
To assuage an empty page
Nothing—
Worth a cent.
Days like this
I pen on through
Only ‘cause time won’t stop.
Pointless, pointless,
Nothing, nothing,
Then suddenly—
Nothing pops!
To the One Trying to Earn Salvation
I see where you’ve come from
And I see where you’re heading.
You’ll work yourself into a fit.
You’ll try to obey, be good, take care,
Follow the right path, not hurt anyone.
You’ll practice for the first 20 years
As a daughter then stumble
Around for the next 20
Wondering why following
all those rules doesn’t work.
You won’t realize what you’re trying,
Trying to earn your salvation.
You just want to leave things better,
You’ll say, calmer than you found them.
This will genuinely be true.
This is what you want.
But deep down, you also want more.
You hope the One who sees all
Will recognize you and say “well done.”
You’re trying to prove your worth.
It’s admirable, wanting to make the world better,
But you’re doing it from the wrong place—
Out of feelings of worthlessness.
You aren’t worthless. You are loved.
You are loved more deeply
Than you ever can imagine.
Why are you choosing to live in fear,
—cowering, trembling—
When you could be guided by love?
The price was already paid.
Christ didn’t come to condemn the world,
But that the world might be saved,
Through Him.
It might not make sense,
Why He would care about you,
But why do you care
About things you’ve created?
Why do your own family,
Your own experiences,
Your own words,
Mean so much to you?
Because you helped make them.
Why does your kitten make you smile?
Because you love it.
You can’t explain why;
You love what you love.
I can’t explain why Christ
Loves what he does.
You may feel unworthy, imperfect,
Like you’ll never earn His love,
Never earn His salvation
And that’s all true.
But He chooses to love you.
You’ll eventually realize that
And out of that place of plenty
You’ll want to share His vision
And make this world a better place.
Angela Writes... 