Recently within the past couple of weeks, I’ve struggled with comparing myself to other creatives, specifically other poets. This caused me to experience a lack of expression because I was too caught up in what other people were doing. I found myself forcing words onto my paper rather than truly finding inspiration in my day-to-day, and I longed to please others rather than to write what I feel, and connect with others through that.
Most importantly, I forgot where my ultimate source of creativity comes from; I fixed my eyes on myself rather than on my Creator who blessed me with the gift of creativity.
After talking with Honey (my stepmom, for those who haven’t been reading my blog recently), I was inspired to write this poem. She said some wise things that I’ve incorporated here, one of which is the actual title of the poem – “My Poetry is Ministry.” I’m grateful to have such a godly woman of the Lord in my life to help steer me back on the right path when I feel like I’ve been lost.
So Honey, I dedicate this poem to you. Thank you for your prayers, and for always looking to the Lord so that you may speak His Word to others. 💛
“My Poetry is Ministry”
My poetry is ministry,
And I have treated it lately with such
Carelessness — scribbling down verses and words to try to impress rather than to
Try to connect.
My focus shifted towards selfish ways and it became more about filling a page and
I let comparison run rampant through my brain,
When what I truly needed was
My Father’s grace – the grace that bestowed this
Gift of words to me in the first place that
Birthed such beauty from ashes that I sat in —
Grieving a loss, questioning the purpose of my pen, trying to
Comprehend where I was headed, where my value lied.
My Father’s grace is the only thing that keeps my poetry alive it
Makes me feel like I don’t even have to try because it
Freely flows and
The inspiration is divine and
I know this to be true because
When I look back at what I’ve written when my heart is aligned,
There’s absolutely no way that it came from my own mind.
So, first things first —
My words are more than just sowed together scribbles that simply sound deep and that,
As my stepmother once told me,
“Could contain hell underneath,” no,
The bars I spit originate from the Most High and are
Spoken and written through me —
“A broken reed, a smoldering flame.”
Yes, my poetry is ministry so
Take my name out of the equation and see
But my Father’s grace.