Like Martha, many things make me anxious, take my mind down the most unproductive roads, make time my enemy. But those things, they require perspective. Take a breath, and don’t forget peace conquers worry.
Every Friday in November’s poetry challenge was dedicated to a different poetic form, giving us an opportunity to stretch ourselves a bit. The first form was the “Golden Shovel,” from Terrance Hayes. For this form, you take a line from a poem you admire. You then use those words, in order, as the end words for each line of your own poem, crediting the author of the original lines in your own work. For more on this form, and to find links to Hayes’ golden shovel and to the poem that inspired his, see here.
What comes with no forethought but what is there, Already filling heart and mind? Sans preparation, share Your soul, a kind Of pray’r. Confess and find The freedom in the care Of him who came in love and shined The light that darkened souls could be laid bare.
It’s time to make the time for art again, To see the sacrifice as offering. Adorn the worlds without and worlds within. Retrace the shapes of joy and suffering And show them mingled, mangled, and made new As only your soul can, and it will be A blessing to yourself and others too, A testament that truth still sets us free. You feel your work is meager. It is so. There are far finer pens and fairer lines. But e’en the best are flawed, and still they show The glory of the Lord. They still are signs Reminding downcast eyes to look ahead And giving hungry bellies fresh-baked bread.
This is the first of 30 poems written this past November in response to prompts. In most cases, my poems were untitled, so I just used the prompt as the title.
As we approach the end of the year, I wanted to give a few updates on the blog. Despite my recent posting record, I do intend to keep writing, and I’ve been working on some new things that I’m pretty excited about. And while I don’t think I’ll post quite as often as I once did, I’m looking forward to being able to post more frequently in the new year than I’ve done lately. With that being said, here are a few quick updates as we get ready for Christmas and a new year.
First, I recently got married! It’s been a whirlwind between the wedding, honeymoon, and holidays, but I’m so excited about what the Lord’s been doing, and I’m looking forward to writing about what God’s been teaching me in this season of life.
Second, I participated in a poetry writing challenge this November where I wrote 30 new poems in response to daily prompts throughout the month. While many of these poems are more like first drafts than polished pieces, I’m excited to share them weekly in the new year. Poetry Fridays are coming back, Lord willing!
Third, I’m working on an essay that I hope will be ready early next year. As I’ve been working on it, though, I’ve been recognizing how rusty I am. While I don’t know if I’ll be able to do weekly essays like before, I do want to get back in the habit of writing regularly, so I’d like to ask for your help. If you have any essay suggestions, I’d love to hear them! In the past, I’ve really enjoyed writing in response to prompts from friends, as such prompts have often challenged me to think about topics I wouldn’t normally consider or to approach something from a fresh angle. So feel free to send me suggestions, and I’ll see what I can do!
This year is coming to a close more quickly than I anticipated, but I’m excited about what the Lord is doing, and I want to be faithful to steward my time well. I’m looking forward to time with family and friends over the next couple of weeks, and I’m looking forward to what next year will bring. So if this is the last post of the year, I hope you have a merry Christmas and a happy new year! I’ll see you in 2024!
In fear, we burn down bridges, build up walls. We work against the good that you intend. Yet you account for failures, fights, and falls And bring good anyway, and you can mend Our rent relationships and broken hearts, Redeeming what was ruined by these hands. We shatter graces, scatter all the parts; You hold all things together in your plans. Lord, you give purpose even to our pain. The love we tear asunder, you renew. You see the growth to come from all the rain, And you sustain us till we see it too, Till chosen exile ends in holy rest And dispossession’s fin’lly dispossessed.
Talent is a strange thing. And if you desire to steward your talent well for the service of God and his kingdom, your relationship with it may be a bit tricky.
First, it’s difficult to affirm your own talents without feeling like you’re being arrogant. Maybe that’s just me, but even the simple statement, “I have a talent for writing” feels weird to type. I immediately fear that someone will read these words and will assume I’m attempting to draw attention to myself or am trying to make a name for myself. I don’t ever want to be the guy who loves the sound of his own voice or who takes every opportunity to talk about the work he’s doing. In the attempt to avoid arrogance, I tend to swing the pendulum so far in the other direction that I end up in the opposite extreme of downplaying or downright ignoring what the Lord has given me to steward. But if the Lord has given you a talent, then I think he intends for you to use it, and that means accepting the reality that you are talented. I think part of using your gifts for the glory of God means embracing their existence, and that means having a healthy pride in the work you do.
Second, talent requires effort. While inspiration can, and does, foster times of excitement in the work, inspiration alone won’t sustain you in the work. This isn’t novel, as many others have pointed this out, but I’ve come to understand this more clearly through my own life and work. I used to write an essay and a poem just about every week. A wise man gave me some writing advice in the early days of my blog, and one of the pieces of advice that stuck with me was his encouragement to stick to a consistent schedule. As I kept a consistent writing schedule, I grew in a number of ways, and I saw the Lord use my work in the lives of others. Much good came from that discipline. But inspiration wasn’t always present. Sometimes it struck at the right place and time, and I enjoyed a period of writing under its influence. But sometimes the schedule simply called for the work to be done, and I had to write whether I felt inspired or not. And as I did, I found what others have found before me: inspiration often follows a disciplined effort. I believe the Lord used my work in that season in some neat ways. And while I’ve seen him at work in this present season, I’ve also felt led by him to do more than I’ve been doing. In this season, I don’t keep a writing schedule, so I’m not writing as much I used to. And I miss it. The act of writing is a spiritual discipline of sorts for me, so when I don’t write, I don’t just keep my talents from those I could be serving; I keep myself from a blessing as well. And effort is part of the process.
Third, your talent is more than just a hobby. I used to think of writing as a hobby: something I enjoy doing that may or may not be enjoyed by others. When I thought of it, I didn’t necessarily see it as anything more than a personal interest. But over time, I began to see that writing was a kind of ministry, perhaps one that the Lord had equipped me to do. So I started working at it, pursuing growth in the craft. And as I did, I saw how God used my work to bless others. I still struggle to accept this reality for myself (see my first point above), but I readily see it when I look at the talents of others. The songs and stories of Andrew Peterson, the music of The Arcadian Wild, the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins, the essays of C. S. Lewis, the tales of J. R. R. Tolkien — all of these have brought comfort, encouragement, joy, and wonder to my life. I have been helped by the talents of others, and I have seen the Lord use their works to minister to me. And while I don’t presume to place myself on the same level as these artists, I do recognize the opportunity to participate, in some smaller measure, in the same work, in using the talents God has given me to create things that he may then use in the lives of others. Your talent may not be only for you.
In a way, all of this boils down to one word: faithfulness. To be faithful with my talents means to see what God has enabled me to do and to affirm it as good. One podcast I listened to focused specifically on this idea, and for good reason (look up the Call It Good podcast by Matt Conner). I can’t steward well what I deny exists. But affirming one’s talent as a good thing is only step one. To be faithful with my talents means I must work at them. I must put in the time and effort required to hone my craft, to grow in my abilities, and to produce works that are good, beautiful, and true. Rather than waiting for inspiration to strike, I must strike first, in faith that God can bless my faithfulness regardless of whether I initially feel inspired in the act of creating. And finally, to be faithful with my talents means seeing them as gifts not just for me but for others. My writing is one way that I love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength and love my neighbor as myself. This means I should be careful before I ignore my talent. Again, if God has given me something, I think he wants me to use it. And if that’s true, then I should probably be slow to stop working.
What about you? What talents do you possess? What has God given you to steward in this life? And what can you do with it this week?
I cannot change biology, I know. I cannot strip the seasons of their weight. I fight and fret to get my mind to slow. I will not e’er be freed this anxious state. My life is often tension, sometimes ease. I wrestle with my measure of control. But God reigns over all my -ologies, And he remains the Shepherd of my soul. I do not want this lot, but it is mine To steward till the Master comes again. I may now shudder, but I also shine With grace sufficient from the Light of men. My mind and heart malfunction. He redeems And leads my anxious mind by peaceful streams.
Seasons are strange things. In some ways, there’s a sense of safety in an understanding of seasons. For example, it’s currently summer, which means it’s hot and humid here in New Orleans. The weather feels almost oppressive at times, zapping our energy levels and frustrating us with its unrelenting heat. But summer is a season, and seasons change. Some day, the air will feel cooler and dryer. The weight of the still, stuffy air will be lifted by cool breezes, and we’ll feel lighter instead of heavier as we step outside. Knowing this, I can endure the discomfort of today because I know a change will come. I need not get lost in the difficulty of today; I can rest in the knowledge that this process will continue on as it has always done. This is simply the season for heat and humidity, and that’s okay.
Our understanding of seasons doesn’t diminish the difficulty of the present day, though. We who are especially prone to discomfort during summer suffer, in a way, while in that season, longing for the relief of fall. Likewise, we who are especially prone to discomfort during winter suffer in the cold as we wait for the relief of spring. The seasons don’t look the same, and we don’t feel the same way through them all. As they change, so do we.
Seasons of life are similar. We experiences seasons of joy and peace, of fun and freedom, filled with recreation and rest and friends and family. We also experiences seasons of hardship and loss, of discomfort and distress, of loneliness and isolation. We experience seasons of abundance as well as seasons of lack, seasons of much and seasons of little. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens,” as the author of Ecclesiastes reminds us (Ecclesiastes 3:1). And we change with those seasons, sometimes growing, sometimes struggling to grow. And just like there are cooler days in the summer and warmer days in the winter, our seasons are not monolithic. There are genuine joys in the midst of hard seasons, and there are genuine sorrows in the midst of easy seasons. Life is complex, as are we. Knowing this brings some comfort, but it does not necessarily lessen the weight of our experiences.
Through every season, though, God is constant, steadfast, faithful. He remains sovereign over every season, Lord over every day we live. Jesus continues to intercede on behalf of his own. The Spirit remains with us to comfort, to convict, and to encourage growth in godliness. Though our experiences change, and though we change over time, our God does not. I think this is part of why Paul can say in Philippians 4, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). Though seasons change, one thing remains constant through it all. By centering our lives on Jesus, we find strength to weather any season.
That’s easier said than done, of course. In difficult seasons, it can be hard to abide in him. Our circumstances, our community, and at times, even our own thoughts, feelings, and bodies can feel like obstacles to walking with Jesus. We can know cognitively that he is with us and that he will sustain us without feeling it to be true, and we can try to seek him while feeling like our limbs are too heavy to do the work. In such times, an understanding of seasons can feel almost worthless. But if the Bible is true and if God is faithful, then there is always hope. Maybe in our most difficult seasons, our weakness doesn’t have to define our experience. Maybe it’s not greater effort but rest that will lead us to freedom. Maybe the answer isn’t in us but in him.
As seasons change, and as we change with them, it’s easy to lose sight of what is constant and unchanging. It’s easy to forget that the one who has overcome this world has indeed overcome this world, that even death itself has been experienced and conquered. If this is true, then nothing we face is outside of his ability to turn for good. Nothing we face, and nothing we become, is beyond his power to redeem. So we can exist in this season, and in every season, with a hope, a foundation, and a strength found not in the season itself but in the one who walks with us through every season. Further, we can rest in the fact that for those who love God, no season is wasted. All things work together for good (Romans 8:28), and nothing can separate us from God’s love (Romans 8:31-39).
Seasons change, and so do we. Sometimes we long for the change, and other times we dread it. In every season, though, I believe we can “taste and see that the LORD is good,” and we can find refuge in him (Psalm 34:8). We can hold fast to the promise of future glory, glory that will more than make up for any suffering faced in this life (Romans 8:18). And we find hope in him. If he has shown himself to be good and faithful now, amidst the change and discomfort of these earthly seasons, how much more does he want to give us in eternity?
Thank you to Maci for her feedback on this post! She makes everything better, and I am so grateful for her thoughtful eye.
Unsafe, unsettled, captive to my mind, Caught by impending ambiguity, Lost in a steady rain of thoughts unkind, Just out of reach of true reality. I know the signs and triggers, subtle clues That signal shifted thinking, but I feel A restlessness and see in starker hues That taint the truth and dull my sense of real. This state distorts perspective, leaving me The least equipped to navigate the haze. My greatest need is objectivity, But I stay subject to uncertain days. But truth is truth and real is real despite My inability to see the light.
as i learn to walk 