It’s been a while, and I’m sorry that this isn’t going to be a very feel good pick me up sort of post.
But that’s ok.
The current state of America is not for the faint of heart. Highest COVID fatalities, systemic racism, police brutality, political polarization, riots, lock downs, and patriots. So. Many. “Patriots”.
As many others, I have been thinking through a lot, and though I almost feel like a fraud because I really don’t have much to bring to the table, I still want to take part in the conversation.
Tonight I sat down to catch up on some school work. I have become so wearied from the state of things, particularly the callousness of religious people (oh the irony) towards literally anything that involves others catching up to said religious people at their mere inconvenience. Dear god, the privilege.
Sadly, I was part of that as well, and I am not out of the woods just yet. Leaning into my ignorance is not a very pleasant or desirable experience. But pretending that it doesn’t exist is no longer an option.
As I booted up my laptop, I heard the pitter-patter of rain outside.
KA-BOOM.
Thunder.
Lightening.
Random cheers from neighbors.
Again.
I was deeply moved by the contrast of the sheer force and power of nature and my own helplessness.
Taking in the light-show and steadying calmness of the rain, I wanted to pour my heart out onto paper.
Hate, Hate, Go Away
If only rain could wash away the evil in this world If only rain could soothe and clean out wounds If only rain could water seeds of love and kindness
If only thunder was the rumblings of Justice condemning hate to hell And lightening, the teacher who erased all ignorance and called out those walking in its darkness..
Yet, rain can only fall.
And as it falls, it falls like tears as humanity weeps for the mess we’ve made of ourselves
Kristy wrote a little poem, little poem, little poem Kristy wrote a little poem, and now you’re automatically singing Mary had a little lamb, aren’t you?
I just had a random stroke of.. stroke- as you can see, the stroke is abandoning my imagination now and I cannot figure out what to call the stroke, as it’s not really a stroke of genius, but also not like a medical stroke, thank God for that.
When I was growing up. I had to recite a lot of poems for church. I hated poems. I don’t know why they are such a big thing in the Slavic tradition that I come from, as I have never encountered the regular recital of poetry in any other formal religious setting.
I can see it now: me and a few girls from my youth group scrambling before the service to write out a program.
It would usually look like this: Prayer Congregation sings Youth choir Sermon 1 Choir Poem Song Sermon 2 Song Poem Choir Poem Song Sermon 3 Choir Song Closing Prayer
Yes, 3 sermons. This was the structure of most services, though sometimes there would be one less sermon(best day ever) or it would just be a lot of songs, with no poems to break up the music, also not a bad day.
I find it highly ironic, now that I’m writing a poem, because of my dislike of poetry. I think it is because i associate poems with church, which translates to spiritual poems. Spiritual poems aren’t bad, but there are a lot of bad poems that are spiritual, and given the rate at which I heard poems, I can tell you that I’ve heard a lot, and not all of them were great. I remember so many would have just a slight- teeny tiny- thread of negativity. It was subtle, but enough to evoke a feeling of discomfort, perhaps even guilt. I know poetry should evoke feelings or at least thoughts, but not in a consistent make-you-feel-kinda-bad-about-yourself way, at least that’s not how I like my poetry.
Example: I was given a poem to learn for a service. The theme for the service was “Gratitude”, so my poem was about the Russian word for thank you “spacibo”, which apparently was derived from “spaci(to save)” and “Bog(God)” literally translating to “God save you.” In the opening line, it goes like this: “A simple and good word “Thank you”, how could you not like this word? It once used to mean “may God save you”, but people were quick to forget that.”
Did you catch it? There’s a subtle implication of malice on the part of those who speak the language and adapt words in an ever changing environment, how dare they? So for this reason, and a few others, I really dislike a lot of the poems recited in church. Were there good poems? Definitely. Did people enjoy them? Most likely. Is it something that could be done away with? Also most likely yes.
Are my reasons good enough to write off a whole integral part of a Slavic Baptist worship service? Maybe yes, maybe no, but I think we will never know.
Now that you have this context, maybe it’s a bit more clear why I find my sudden poetic streak rather ironic. The meter is a bit off (you have to emphasize “he” in the fourth line in order to have good flow) but nonetheless, it happened, and perhaps you’ll enjoy it.
Let me know what you think. It’s cutesy, simple, and sweet, so the intended audience is likely to be kids and kids at heart.
The Great Big Story In the beginning, God created everything The earths[planets], the suns, the seas He made bacteria, the dinosaurs, the mammoths, and the trees He loves his creation, and that is clear to see As he gave sapiens a mind to think, and know, and feel, and be He left a lot of clues for scientists to find To figure out just how it’s made, to get into his mind And as we study more and more, the bigger our God gets For there is so much left to learn and much to keep us guessing The universe reveals his power- black holes are glorious things And so are tiny worker bees with pollen on their wings In big and little, God is seen A being full of glory Look up and down and all around, take in the Great Big Story
Thought Fossils 