The Joy of Poetry

I have to admit, there has been a long lapse in my life since I have written poetry. But tonight, I felt a need to revisit a place that has always brought me great joy.  I hope you enjoy my interlude of the rhyming word and perhaps you, too, will revisit a beautiful part of our literary world.

Please, put down the hate

And pick up the love.

If you are faltering,

Seek the one above.

We all struggle.

We all feel pain.

No matter our color

We feel hurt the same.

The words spewed

Without thought

Leave us angered

We are all distraught.

If I were you

And you were me

Losing a loved one

We don’t feel differently.

 I hear the pain

That breaks in your voice

And I hope together

We can break through the noise.

That children are children

And all our hearts shatter

When a life is lost

Because every life matters.

Please put down the hate

And pick up the love

If you are faltering

Seek the one above.

Discuss what hurts

Talk about anger

Talk about subjects

And thoughts that matter.

We all have a voice

We all have a place

Let’s discuss our differences

Face to face.

We can do this

We can move forward

Our country has always

Moved upward and onward.

Civility and dignity

Must find its place

So we can continue

To be THE UNITED STATES!

So one last time

With a heart open wide,

Together we can close

This expanding divide.

Please put down the hate

And pick up the love,

If you are faltering

Seek the one above.

Because in the end

I love you and you love me,

And that is the way

We were intended to be.

The Joy of Hope

"I may feel helpless, but never hopeless." I wrote these words tonight on my personal Facebook page after learning of the horror in Nice, France. I hung my head and honestly, I could not even pray...again. I feel like I am stuck in a horror adaptation of Groundhog Day. I wonder if humanity and her empathy have gone on a sabbatical without notice. But, I am reminded constantly that our world has always been at war. This sadness I feel is nothing new to those who lived before us. That this bloody battle that is shown on every news channel 24/7 is old news, but so consequently, is the quiet, relentless, unyielding face of hope.
 I have always felt things deeply and this is not really a "gift" as one might imagine. For with every unbridled joy there is also the despondent despair. For those of us who walk the emotional tightrope of the human race, rarely do we find an equilibrium. My earliest memory of this feeling was when my best friend in Middle School parents' were getting a divorce. I carried her sadness around my shoulders like an afghan in winter. I thought I could comfort her if I took on her feelings - maybe she would not feel the tear of her family fabric ripping as much if I provided a temporary patch. After several weeks of a minor melancholy state,  I remember my Mom asking me what was wrong and when I responded, she quietly said, "Laura, you cannot carry the weight of the world on your shoulders." Little did I know this statement would be my emotional make up kit. And I would pack it wherever I traveled.
Mom was right, but as most children, I did not listen. I knew, yes, I knew, I could fix things. If I could vacuum up just a smidgen of their hurt and cast it out with my often heard belly laughing, the pain of those around me would dissipate. But eventually, you realize you are harboring way more than you are casting off and slowly, you might find yourself sinking like the weight attached to a fishing line.
I guess I was fortunate enough to always have a red and white bobble attached to my emotional line. I am surrounded by amazing friends and family.

I have watched these hardworking people succeed in careers, family, and charitable giving, often taking incredulous risks to lasso a dream, and I was more than happy to have a seat in the front row. I cried tears of joy for every hard fought victory. I was close enough to make a catch if they stumbled, but not quite close enough to interfere with their forward momentum. We discussed why they were beyond awesome and yes, sometimes my hands stung with their over zealous high fives. But I was lifted with their glory, their happiness, and their success. My children laugh at me whenever I watch a major sporting event because I cry. And I mean that down and dirty ugly cry. Because I feel the sacrifice those athletes made to get to that moment. No, I have no Olympic Medal, no Heisman Trophy, no Wimbledon Cup but I "get them" when the athletic journey is over and the realization of every sore muscle, every loss before that one, every coach's word ringing in their ears, every decision to miss a normal life moment is coming to fruition. Truth be told, my daughter placed third in a top tier swimming heat this week, and I seriously, quietly cried. I know people may label me "emotional", but I also know everything that went into Anna scoring those first ever points for her swim team. And I let it all out for her. That is what I do.
But there is a negative to every positive. So these world events lately, are creating a havoc on my emotional system. When I see people of any color lose their life at the hands of  bad people who should protect us, I hurt. When I see bad people take the lives of those who protect us 24/7 without question, I hurt. When I hear racial slurs of any kind, I hurt. When I hear of a young man walk into a church and open fire, I hurt. When I watch angry protesters become violent and burn down a city, I hurt. When I learn of a man walking into a gay nightclub and opening fire, I hurt. When I hear a terrorist claim love for their God and then kill, I hurt. When I hear of a man driving a truck over people and then begin shooting on Bastille Day, killing and injuring an unimaginable number, I hurt. Last week, my husband asked me several times, "Is something bothering you? Are you OK?" and I knew that once again, I was wrapping that emotional afghan around my shoulders, feeling the world's weight, bear down with a force that was almost crippling.
Sunday, we went to church. My daughter and I volunteer in the Toddler A Room every other Sunday. No matter our moods upon arrival, we leave the room laughing, retelling stories of the antics of our very lovable and adorable 18-24 month old charges. We wait in the Lobby for David and Josh to arrive, often talking about various topics. It's probably one of my very favorite parts of my week, because for fifteen minutes, it's just me and my daughter, talking. About nothing. About everything. And I see a flickering light that will continue to burn as her generation begins to transform our world.

In those fleeting fifteen minutes, I feel the hope creeping in around me, quietly removing the emotional afghan, carefully folding and placing it in my mind drawer. I feel a little lighter, and well, a little more hopeful. After we deposited our children in their respective areas, David and I made our way to our seats for our service. I shared with my husband I was warned this was a tissue worthy service. Because of the recent tragedy in Dallas, I thought we would be talking about race relations, violence and how so many feel helpless in the chaos that is becoming a constant in our life. And then Bruce Ham was introduced to our congregation. He is the Chief Development Officer at the Triangle YMCA and our church is partnering with the YMCA to build a wonderful facility in our area. "Oh", I remember thinking, "he is going to tell us how we our going to impact our community.". Then Bruce shared his personal story and the tears flowed for the next ten to fifteen minutes. I urge you to click on the link I have posted at the bottom of this entry - Bruce is poignant, humorous, and honest as he unabashedly reveals the darkness that cloaked his family when he lost his wife and his three young daughters, their mother, to cancer at the young age of 39. At one point, he shared, his youngest asked, "Daddy, can we give Mommy's cancer to someone else?". You see, she, too, was looking for hope in the middle of a storm no child should face, but unfortunately, do. Bruce went on to give us ten tips on how to help people through the grieving process. Ten little steps that lead you toward the path of hope. I wonder if someone had reached out to the man who drove his truck through the innocent gatherers celebrating Bastille Day, would have really delivered ice cream instead of carnage, if he had stepped toward hope and away from hate. That man, that father, that husband, that son, felt hopeless and the rest of us became helpless.
I know tomorrow I will be able to pray again to ask for the healing of the families as they prepare for an empty space at their dinner tables. I know tomorrow I will pray for our world leaders to be wise and direct with those that are violently objectionable to the human race. I know tomorrow I will pray for our communities to talk civilly about hard subjects that begin to heal old, old wounds. I know tomorrow I will pray for a little girl in our community who is battling brain cancer. I know tomorrow I will try to make a difference as maybe I walk someone down the path of hope. Because hope, in the epic game of rock, paper, scissors, will always trump hate. And I find great joy in knowing that while I may feel temporarily helpless, I will never feel forever hopeless. And the people said, "Amen.".
http://crosspointe.org/series/practical-ways-to-love-your-grieving-friends