|
a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
|
|
a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
|
![]() My mother pretended to be asleep beside me, Hiding her face from mine. But still I felt her tremors run through the bed, covers rippling With quiet grief. For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord (Jeremiah 29:11). I could not understand this sea she waded—only knew that
Hope was a treacherous thing for giving An immigrant family with nothing but three hundred dollars and a camera A dream of tantalizing promise. Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some (John 21:6). But when my mother’s dreams cracked like mirrors, She found herself back to dust, resenting This broken world that was never meant for us. If by lying beside you I can feel a fraction of your sorrow, I whispered, Then God’s heart must be breaking. And what God in heaven whose heart is good Would only answer in silence? He was moved with compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless (Matthew 9:36). Finally, my mother shifted— Thanked me, and drew me close. And I wondered If both of us were lying, denying That suffering was just suffering, pain just pain, Telling ourselves stories about a God we wanted to believe in, giving ourselves another Dream to keep us from waking, another dream to conceal in its dark fold, Unspoken rage. Lord, teach us to pray (Luke 11:1). Comments are closed.
|
Categories
All
* = Editors' Choice work
Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
October 2023
|