For some people, understanding and conveying emotions to others comes naturally—needing little-to-no time to ruminate and articulate them. For the rest of us, often times there needs to be a medium through which we can splatter them, like art upon a canvas, to create a painting through which God can provide clarity to understand, trust to accept and wisdom to respond in a healthy way to them and the circumstances that brought them about.
For me, that medium has always been poetry.
Throughout my six years of writing, I have composed verses of heroic romance, heartfelt prayers, verses of remorse and depression, naïve infatuations, dreams and insights, nature and eternity, resolution and doubt. Through writing them with brutal honesty, Jesus helps me analyze my emotions then align them to the plumb line of His Word.
Today, I wanted to share one with you that, for some odd reason, has always stood out to me. Perhaps, in the words of Mordecai, it has stood out solely for the purpose of sharing it “for such a time as this.”
To: --. --.
Somewhere between yesterday and today
That vague memory of you and I played;
Truly, Frost was right—nothing gold can stay:
Only to oblivion be delayed.
No, in that meadow called Ideal,
We praised the delights of our love:
And though the birds with pleasure chirped along
To that melody of magnolia blooms,
Soon there could be found no trace of that song,
Only two vacant hearts, two empty rooms:
Somehow something had broke the seal
And its treasure flew with the doves.
Perhaps it was me, in wanting embrace,
Left alone in dolorous hope to dream.
What birds e'er charmed me with jubilant grace,
Or what petals in the sunlight e'er gleamed?
Perhaps I, in that vale surreal,
Praised the fantasized hope of love
And not truly what Love is of.
Generally, when I write poems in commemoration of something or in dedication to someone—whether to inspire boldness, provide insight or simply to praise—I add their initials (e.g. To: A. F.). For this poem, though, I cannot remember who inspired it, which continues to provide a sense of mystery and timelessness.
In “To: --. --.,” I quoted a poem by Robert Frost, wherein a sobering but simple truth is found. I was first exposed to this brief poem by my brother who is well-versed in a plethora of diverse topics. In this small poem below is much substance, and is therefore worthy of a few minutes of attentive contemplation and sincere appreciation:
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Robert Frost
Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.
Throughout my high school and college careers, I have read much about love, my favorites being "A Love Worth Giving" by Max Lucado and "The Four Loves" by C. S. Lewis, but I have read a number of others as well. Consequently, I have written much about love—appreciative love in Speech class, giving love, temporal-infatuation and Agape love, just to name a few. Because I have dated only a few people, often my perceptions of romantic love are purely mental, hypothetical and fantasy-like. My poem expresses such askew perceptions: the vanity of idealistic infatuations that run rampant the mind like a vine and the time when the rose-colored glasses begin clear-up, showing “Only two vacant hearts, two empty rooms.”
Sometimes thoughts can become so real to us. That is why it is imperative to seek God and to allow His Spirit to help make sense of our thoughts and then to adjust them to reality. “Somehow something had broke the seal / And its treasure flew with the doves.” Reality hit me, destroying the unfeasible hopes I had constructed, resulting in my dreams flying far away. He opened my eyes to the mental and physical truth that I had deceived myself: “What birds e'er charmed me with jubilant grace, / Or what petals in the sunlight e'er gleamed?”
But rarely does God stop there.
He opens our eyes to new spiritual truths in surprising ways to reveal His heart and to bring us to a realer sense of being.
For me, this climaxed in the final three lines: “Perhaps I, in that vale surreal, / Praised the fantasized hope of love / And not truly what Love is of.” Loving the thought of love detracts from the purpose of loving viz. giving our utmost for the beloved’s gain, not considering the consequences of such sacrifices, putting their needs above our own, etc. St. Augustine commented about a similar experience he had when in Carthage:
“So I arrived at Carthage, where the din of scandalous love-affairs raged cauldron-like around me. I was not yet in love, but I was enamored with the idea of love, and so deep within me was my need that I hated myself for the sluggishness of my desires. In love with loving, I was casting about for something to love; the security of a way of life free from pitfalls seemed abhorrent to me, because I was inwardly starved of that food which is yourself, O my God.” St. Augustine, Confessions, Book III, Chapter I
Jesus Christ is love—its embodiment, example and fulfillment. Love is so much more than a multitude of things the world says it is, like making cute couples, sharing the auxiliary cord, buying flowers, worrying about planning a themed wedding and other similar things. True love sacrifices its own (and often times selfishly-driven) desires, entrusting them to the Good Lord to fulfill in His timing, and focuses on meeting the beloved’s needs while continually pointing them to the cross where-from the fount of love continually flows, restores and cleanses.
“Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.” 1 John 4:10 (KJV)
That, I have found, is truly what love is made of.
