This past weekend I attended a leaders' retreat, and before this weekend we were all encouraged to work on our creative side and bring something we created to present to the group. Well, I'm not generally using my creative side and sometimes think I don't have much creativity at all, but I sat down a few weeks ago and determined that I would write a poem about where I've been these last few months, how God has been working on me, and how I see it all.
They are not pleasant,
Nor beautiful nor peaceful,
These visions of the one who bore me into the
World, gasping for life's last breath.
Saline drops line cheeks.
Grief floods in waves, tide rolls in,
And the losing-pain stings as
Salt in the wound loosely bound.
Not grieving as one without hope--
Just as one without “Momma.”
Early memories of health and joy
Winnowed out by weakened limbs and empty eyes.
Wishing not to have witnessed
But thankful to be present—bittersweet.
Prayers of grateful regret.
Broken-heart healing, wound re-opened,
Cleansed and bound again.
Father-surgeon bandages knowing the hurt.
Divine saline touches cheek from above.
Daddy's eyes tighten, tide rolls out.
By Wendie Beddingfield