Winter has always inspired quietness, stillness. On the rare occasions when I have found a small islet peace in turbulent winter storms of the past, I was always struck by the silence of the world. Of course there are nations at war, media clamoring for attention, entertainment escapes a plenty, but Nature becomes a Quiet Mother. She hushes us, and we shiver and still. Everything is holding its breath, waiting, anticipating. Reflect, She whispers to the soul. The beginning of this year has been exactly that: a still, quiet reflection. I anticipate what is coming, but I am patiently here, in the moment. My eyes are open to all the change, the growth, that blooms deep inside the womb of silence.
I wrote this as a reflection on the transition between the fall and winter semesters. Because I am prone to habits and patterns, the theme can also be applied to my life as a whole. Although what I am posting here is in verse form, I have also arranged it in prose. Perhaps one day I will gain the courage to perform this as a spoken word piece–when the silence breaks, and if I ever get around to talking.
0~0~0
Prodding Grace
Tap tap.
That’s how He came—in annoying gentle prods.
Tap tap. Poke poke. Nudge nudge.
They were all whispered hint hints and hey heys.
Never winks though. No, His eyes were ever open,
ever watching.
I closed my own eyes to Him. I filled my ears against
His soft pleas until I could hear Him no longer.
I drowned and shut down.
I closed off and shriveled up.
Plenty wounded but with no blood left to spill,
I pulled my grey blanket of despair around me
Once again.
But I didn’t cover my face.
I kept it around my shoulders,
Shrugged into my sweater of misery every morning
And put on exasperated pants and irritable shoes.
Even underneath all that,
Familiar and numbing as it was,
He came.
Tap tap. Poke poke. Nudge nudge.
Whispers and prods.
Desperation and I had had plenty of
encounters before, but this was something more.
I still don’t have the right word.
I peeked up, whispered back.
Hey hey.
The words came from my soul,
Timid and skeptical,
Prideful and ashamed.
I knew what He wanted, but I couldn’t.
It’s impossible to let go when
Hanging on so tightly is the only
Way left for you to survive.
The tap taps and poke pokes kept coming.
I resolved, I wondered, and I whispered back again,
Hint hint.
Hopeful and self-deprecating,
Pleading and chastising.
I knew what I wanted, but He wouldn’t.
Would He?
He drowned me, dragged me deep down,
Unlocked the doors and opened up the walls.
He stripped away everything I hid behind
And offered more than I could receive.
It’s impossible to cling to worthless things
In the presence of the King of Kings.
0~0~0
Giving In To Grace,
The Scribbler
