Every which way I turn there seems to be poetry. I'm not necessarily speaking metaphorically either. In "A Million Little Ways" by Emily Freeman, a book I recently read, she calls us the "poiema" of Christ. The word poiema is Greek and it is where our English word, poem takes it's origins. Poiema, is masterpiece, or workmanship when translated from the Biblical text as in Ephesians. Paul's letter to the people in Ephesus states, "For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago". We are His creation, living, breathing, works of art. Image bearer. Powerful. I've thought quite a lot about what exactly that means in my life. This word has caused me to reevaluate what art actually is. How my life is a work of art. Constant. In motion. Ever changing. The life I live gives words to my poem. My offering.
Then I stumbled upon a poem written in the foreword of another book I just started reading, "Jesus Feminist", by Sarah Bessey. I'll share it here, it's lengthy but so worth the read.
The poem is written by Idelette McVicker, titled
"Let us be Women Who Love"
Let us be women who love. Let us be women willing to lay down our sword words, our sharp looks, our ignorant silence and towering stance and fill the earth with extravagant Love. Let us be women who Love. Let us be women who make room. Let us be women who open our arms and invite others into an honest, spacious, glorious embrace.
Let us be women who carry each other. Let us be women who give from what we have. Let us be women who leap to do the difficult things, the unexpected things and the necessary things. Let us be women who live for Peace. Let us be women who breathe Hope. Let us be women who create beauty. Let us be women who Love.
Let us be a sanctuary where God may dwell. Let us be a garden for tender souls. Let us be a table where others may feast on the goodness of God. Let us be a womb for Life to grow.
Let us be women who Love.
Let us rise to the questions of our time. Let us speak to the injustices in our world. Let us move mountains of fear and intimidation. Let us shout down the walls that separate and divide. Let us fill the earth with the fragrance of Love. Let us be women who Love.
Let us listen for those who have been silenced. Let us honour those who have been devalued, Let us say, Enough! with abuse, abandonment, diminishing and hiding. Let us not rest until every person is free and equal. Let us be women who Love.
Let us be women who are savvy, smart and wise. Let us be women who shine with the light of God in us, Let us be women who take courage and sing the song in our hearts, Let us be women who say, Yes to the beautiful, unique purpose seeded in our souls. Let us be women who call out the song in another's heart. Let us be women who teach our children to do the same.
Let us be women who Love.
Let us be women who Love in spite of fear. Let us be women who Love, in spite of our stories. Let us be women who Love loudly, beautifully, Divinely. Let us be women who Love.
Poetry surrounding. When I read the words above they seeped in as encouragement. Spurring me on. Challenging me. Infiltrating my senses. And the word that plays on repeat, Love. Not the lower case version of the word, the real deal. Love. I substituted a "let me be a woman" to personalize the poem when I read it a second and third time. Much like I do with scripture. So it penetrates to the depths of my heart. And the part about us being "women who teach our children to do the same", well let's just say that about did me in. Yes, let us. With everything I say and do let me teach them that. To love, and love well. For real.
As if that wasn't more than enough, a few nights ago, as Husband Jared and I were playing cards around the table, Thing 3 was baking some chocolate concoction in the kitchen, Thing 4 was sipping his hot chocolate and Thing 2 was reading, Thing 1 shared a poem she had written for her Humanities class. Styled after William Blake. I have permission to share her words here as well. They moved me. I believe they came from her soul. Spilled on the page. Vulnerable and real. For her, like me, the written word is a medium to unlock the mysteries. More poetry for you, by Thing 1.
How joyful can one be
When night soon approaches thee
With silence and beauty
The world slips blissfully
Lights go out, streets become calm
The city a quiet speck dreaming in earth’s palm
Beauty so dark has overcome
Only a soul awake in this solemn slum
She looks up to the stars for light and wisdom
She wonders when she will ever feel freedom
She sees the fluorescent colors begin to rise
What the day ahead holds is but a surprise
May these words bring inspiration to your day, a new thought to ponder, maybe a mystery unlocked or a passion ignited. I'll choose to use them as a reminder that not only was I created as poem, but each and everyone that I encounter today was as well. So with that in mind, "Let me be a woman who Loves".