A Poem, By Joy Aletheia Stevens
Hold fast, fisted tightly.
How do I let go?
My will is strong, wrong or rightly,
But there is so much that I do not know.
It’s a daily fight, deep inside my core,
To trust what I do not see.
But it is I this faith I am looking for,
The only place to truly be free!
“My way is best”, my mind rebels,
“I alone know what is best for me!”
And the world in agreement wells,
Telling me to find my way to be happy.
But is this true? Is this right?
To go about my own path and way?
Stumble along in dark of night?
Is there no other voice to which I could sway?
Submit, a curse word, a word of slaves!
How we cry out against its crushing chains!
Surly it would crush us, as crushing waves,
Cripple us to be dependent on some cane.
But is this word, submit, this curse,
This idea, really what we think?
Something to be rejected, as a matter of course,
To run from, as from a brink.
Could it, perhaps, be more or less,
Not about slavery,
But rather to whom, allegiance, we confess,
To whom we follow, and that bravely?
Perhaps, in the end, we all submit,
And it is only in whom we are submitting to:
To self, this bungle of emotions and wit,
Or, perhaps, submit to You.
Trust and Faith and questions of Worship.
Submission inside my heart,
Not in slavery, but rather in Lordship,
And changes deep inside may start.
Rebellion let’s go, my fingers unfold.
Both broken and whole I’ve become,
As I listen and follow this One, beauty untold,
And let His will and mine become one.
Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be take from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.” Matthew 26:39