Category Archives: Poetry

Judgment Day

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Judgment Day
Sherri Stone-Bennett

 

 

 

 

 

Today is judgment day.

Today, when I turned on the television and rolled my eyes.

Today, when I decided I know, with absolute certainty, where your motives really lie.

Today, when I decided that your over-involvement means you have way too much to do.

Today, when I decided that your un-involvement shows you really have no clue.

Today, when I decided by your Instagrammed protest you just wanted a little attention.

Today, when I decided that you not protesting meant you’d rather just avoid confrontation.

Today, when I decided your political affiliation reveals the status of your soul.

Today, when I decided that your opinions are all about control.

Today, when I decided that I really do know what is best.

Today, when I decided I’d rather take the time to judge than to bless.

Today, when I decided to further break things down rather than heal.

Today, when I decided to partner with the thief who comes to destroy, kill, and steal.

Yes. Judgment Day is not only coming. It is here. It is now. It is me.

Because it’s so much easier to point my fingers than ask God to open my eyes so that I can see.

So much easier to watch on the sidelines and wear the hat of referee.

So much easier to deflect and defend than to turn the other cheek.

Especially to my enemies.

(And today, there seem to be so many…)

So much easier to not trust the words of Jesus and fight hard for unity.

Instead, I fight for my rights.

My peace.

My security.

Forgive us, God, for we know not what we do!

Or do we?

 Would we rather ignore what is right, just, and true?

 Help us to show we trust Your ways, Your words, Your wisdom, by our actions – not just say that we do.

 Help us to lean into the hard truths. Not just for the sake of others.

But for our own saving, too.

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The Chrysalis

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The Chrysalis (this place I do life)
a poem, Sherri Stone-Bennett


It’s dark in here. In this place I do life.

Feels like I’ve been here forever, hanging around . . .dangling about in the thinnest of air.

       Or . . .is there air? Don’t feel it, sense it, 

            yet I know I’m still here . . .

Not much to see here, either, in this place I do life.

Abstract images, much like my thoughts, tossing about . . .

       Why this? Why that? When this?

       What if not?

Dark shadows and faint light, all in monotone hue.

Then the next single day . . .

       Is that sun shining through?

Even that’s hard to look at with eyes accustomed to the dark.

So, I squint. Barely able to take it in. Enjoy its shine on me.

       Care for my soul . . .accept it graciously . . .

It’s hard to make out anything, either, in this place I do life.

Hard to distinguish whether I’m up or down. Maybe sideways? All turned around . . .

I am not who I used to be, yet not who I’ll become.

       So, who am I in this hidden place completely unknown?

       Or am I even at all? So wholly undone?

Can’t give, can’t receive, here in this place I do life. 

Nothing in. Nothing out. All energy spent on forming . . .wondering . . .thinking . . .

       simply being . . .

Completely unusable. Untouchable. Unstable. Unable.

        Perhaps that’s the worst . . .feeling wildly incapable . . .

I cry here, often, in this place I do life.

Hidden tears roll madly, uncontrollably . . .perhaps sometimes too timidly . . .

And where do they go to, with no place to escape through?

       They absorb back into me, too often, too easily.

       Determined to affect every cell, piece, and part of me.

       Secretly altering my very identity.

       Or, maybe, perhaps, even trying to become me . . .

I don’t know anymore.

I’ve lost all sense of me.  

And yet . . .

There’s a small space where hope lives, in this place I do life.

It offers respite. Contentment. And peace.

       I know I’ll survive.

Though I’m not able to do anything, much less try that or this,

He can. He will. He wants to.

            He is.

My job’s to be still. Let Him work. Do as He wishes.

       Trust that the stillness is exactly what His will is.

So, I’ll stay here with Him, in this place I do life.

            Evidence my trust by awaiting this meantime.

Listen closely to the voice that has always been by me,

            ever eager to speak words that will love, calm, and guide me . . .

Rest, the Master says . . .

            Rest in chrysalis I have formed just for you.

            Rest in the messy. The uncomfortable. The blue.

            There is value in the dark. You can trust Me; it’s true.

            For what’s growing there is freedom, and custom wings too!

            Maybe orange or bright green or the deepest maroon . . .

            Either way, they’ll be strong,

            having been tried, tested, and true.

            They will fly you to new heights and places anew . . .

            So, hold on to these thoughts of what together we’ll do!

            And remember My grace.

            I’m forever for you.

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