//I have let too many words pass of late. The day the bombs in Brussels exploded, then Easter—two days I penned responses, gut-level. Feelings. Unpretty and honest. I fretted over them as a mother does her children when she lets them stay at home for the first time while she shops. So I didn’t publish.
Fear of imperfection? Rejection? Saying what someone else already has? Yes, and no.
Yes, I questioned my words’ worth, but I was reluctant to let anyone into the pain. The visceral paralysis and churning I have when disasters strike. Or a spiritual days’ significance seizes my soul by the throat and undoes me.
So I let the words pass, and I kept them hidden.//
All things move on, words and songs. Moments. Memories. Pain. Joy. They change and we do too.
After I let them go, the feelings subsided, into the recesses of my heart. Then I saw the situation clearer.
Seize the moment to express the beauty within shared pain.Tweet This
It is how He speaks to me, releases me, from needing the world too much.
I couldn’t let the words slip away without telling you.
Here in the light, I offer you some of them, at the risk of being irrelevant.
Coffee cup tremors in my hands.
God-petitioning hashtag. Again.
Shaken heart, pit ache
Because I see blood on her shirt ripped open,
In a news photo. Her white belly exposed in the subway.
Oh, Shalom. God, help me, I don’t know where peace
Surely not from an airport smoldering
Or another subway tunnel ringing
What strange times in which we read
All the world’s aching, groaning,
Longing for a day without death.
We feel the want for resurrection singing to us from
We cannot touch.
Only feeble lives in pieces,
Belgium’s banner illuminating the Eiffel’s scaffolding,
I will settle the shaking. I will steer the pen. I will not look away.
Weep with those who weep.
Stand with those who suffer.
Seek peace in the hand-off of hope
As officials ask what went wrong?
When will it stop?
The only way through is pouring prayer like blood
And clinging to pure white
Crimson tulip, sun-kissed daffodils will bloom under black in my garden tonight.
Carnage will not carry us away today.
Shalom stills the shaking.
Today’s post is part of Five Minute Friday, a community of creative writers scribbling madly on a one-word prompt for 5 minutes. Our word was PASS. (// indicates the timer’s start and stop.)