There are days when
no elixir is potent enough
to slake all that my heart desires
and there are nights when no
armor is strong enough
to save me from the fears consuming my mind.
My discontented heart goes wandering
and my anxious mind searches for rest
in a new beginning…
new places, new faces
old mistakes left behind;
less forgotten,
merely unknown, still undiscovered.
Moving on
Going forward
Greener pastures
Beginning again
Starting fresh
I cannot speak for all
who have left the unknown,
for there is a certain bravery
in leaving what is familiar
to venture into a foreign land.
Yet bravery is not faith.
As one well-traveled
I can attest that it is easy to discover
happiness in newness;
and maybe if I am careful, vigilant
just maybe, hopefully, I can be
or simply appear (since I know myself too well)
perfect,
flawless.
The phoenix apart from her ashes.
I am not so complicated, really
I am bent towards delight, finding
pleasure in the smallest of things:
caterpillars, a song, baby giggles.
But even surrounded by such beauty
my worries find me.
They remind me
of my scars
of my mistakes
of the words I can’t take back
of the actions I can’t erase
the ugliness of what I have done
and of who I can be.
They ask me,
Here?
They tell me,
Everyone knows!
About them,
About you,
About all of the messes you’ve made.
And my heart and my mind;
they yearn for that new place,
the place where I can be
as beautiful as all that delights me.
But not this time.
No, not again.
This time, only one word
brings me peace.
Stay.
And I wonder:
Am I just tired?
Old?
Weary?
Afraid?
Weak?
Maybe I’ll add cowardice to a long list of flaws
Fear, it always compelled me to go.
Flight over fight
Running away
hiding out
avoiding the shrapnel
left by my wreckage.
This is what I know:
There is a faith in staying.
Not fear.
Although, yes, I am afraid some days.
But it is faith that keeps me here,
in this old place,
shrouded in the embarrassment
of all who I was, who I still am at times
some wounds gaping
other scars showing.
Here?
Again, my worries question.
The answer, a promise.
All things beautiful, He says.
In His time, of course.
They know about them!
My worries taunt.
I can see them myself, and the
truth hurts.
I am marred by all that has been pruned away,
and all that must still be done.
My trembling heart answers,
“Good!”
These scars?
They are the testimony of a
faithful God,
producing His healing faith in me.
Producing His self.
The wounds have many causes,
most often myself, though
sometimes others.
The best by my good Father,
keeping His promise to me.
And now, drinking His life,
by His power, by His grace,
now I can claim my name:
Warrior.
Fight to remain, fight to stay
fight the good fight of faith,
that my wandering heart
would stay rooted
so He can complete the work He has
started.
So He can keep His promise.
I cannot help but think that
the phoenix is more beautiful for
her ashes;
they testify of the miracle of her
resurrection.
Life sprang from death.
There is a faith in staying.
Hallelujah!
