I am not a poet
The subtle mystery of cadence and rhyme
And this is not a poem.
I confess, this bothers me a lot. I’m ashamed of it, in fact.
In the same way:
I am not a musican.
I am not an artist.
I am not an intellectual.
I am not a philosopher.
I am not a theologian.
I am not a writer.
I am not a good reader.
I am not a student.
I am not a leader.
I am not a follower.
I am not a pastor.
I am not a father nor a husband in any way except by outward label.
I am not an owner.
I am not a good employee.
I am not a success.
I am not really good at anything I do.
I’m not sure I can even assert than I’m a failure.
I am not a saint.
I’m not a good sinner.
I am nothing
and every becoming is a flower crushed under foot.
The world crushes and those who succeed in it crush.
I am poor and crushed. Damaged and downtrodden.
I live among a people who are poor and damaged.
As I approach the age where there should be wisdom, I am poorer and more trampled at every turn.
Dear God I am so tired. I am weary of the suffering and indignity.
I have fought and hated this crushing.
The dignity of the labels of success escape me at every turn.
I see that I must learn the indignity of being accepted and even honored
because of nothing.
Amazingly, this is a difficult lesson, yet it is the essential joy of heaven.
God’s honor is the child’s playground,
And the ultimate reality is pretending at play.
Nothing is needful and everything is ornament.
There is no achievement. No arrival. No greatness.
We are children and there is only grace.
Once you understand this, you will have your eyes opened
to the simple pleasures of mass-produced cookies and naps and kitten videos and
all the poor trampled people around you and
liking whatever you like just because you like it.
Just as it is written, “FOR YOUR SAKE WE ARE BEING PUT TO DEATH ALL DAY LONG; WE WERE CONSIDERED AS SHEEP TO BE SLAUGHTERED.” – Romans 8:36 NASB