Happy Thursday! Aren’t you so glad for the weekend? I can’t wait!
I wanted to offer another poem today. (Like I’ve said, I’ve been writing a lot!)
I call this one “Irony”. It came out of me thinking about how ironically beautiful and yet at the same time anguished the world is. Natural disasters, plagues, the food chain. That’s just the nature end of things. Add humanity into the mix and the list of anguishes gets longer.
However, this is not how things were meant to be. When mankind acted in disobedience to God, bringing the curse of sin upon the world, we did not just curse ourselves; we cursed creation too.
“For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it… For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.” (Romans 8:20,22).
The world which should have been beautiful and full of joy became ugly and full of pain. And yet, it still has some semblance of beauty. It still has some joy in it. And this bears witness to the hope we have, that someday Christ will come and make all things new again. The beauty that once was will be again.
But until then, we have the job of reminding the world of its beauty. And by world I mostly mean people. And that’s hard. Because for all the beauty that people can create, they can also author some pretty disgusting ugliness. Sometimes even we, intending to bring beauty, find ourselves the bringers of ugliness. But the importance is in trying, in getting up each day and purposing in our hearts to communicate God’s great love, mercy, and beauty to an increasingly loveless, dying, ugly world. That’s one heck of a job, but He’s given it to us. And with His strength (gosh, only with His strength) we can remind the world of its beauty and fight the ugliness,
fight the irony.
Across the rocks of emerald moss,
across the mountain’s crest,
I walk and ponder life’s great loss,
the death of all the best.
Across the streets of greasy stone,
between the towers of steel,
I trudge and ponder those alone,
devoid of all that’s real.
Across the paths of hemlock pines,
and lanes of lush green grass,
I stroll and ponder better times,
empires of oil and brass.
Across the scrubby, boiling sand,
the arid plains of waste,
I trek and ponder Christian hands,
in vain they made their haste.
Across the rug between the panes,
stained red to match His blood,
I plod and ponder us who bask
in comfort, doing “good”.
Thanks for reading!
(Poem and photography by Hannah Allman)