Daisy Petal Teardrops in a Bottle

Daisy petals
Scattered on the ground
He loves me, He loves me not…
He loves me, He loves me…
Not…
And I bend down,
Picking petals off the floor.
I need just one more…
He loves me.

Does He really love me
This Maker of all things
Does He see them,
Tear-shaped petals
Falling, falling, falling…
Does He catch them in a bottle
Remem’bring all my cries?
He loves me, He loves me not…
He loves me, He loves me…
Not.
And I bend down once more,
Pick one more petal off the floor.
He loves me.

Should it be this hard,
Being loved, and being known
Finding a place inside His heart
That I can call my own?
He loves me, He loves me not…
He loves me, He loves me….
Not.
I bend down, I look around
But there are no more petals on the floor
He loves me, not?

Does He love me? Really love me?
This Maker of the skies
Does He see the teardrops
Falling… falling… My soul suffocates, and dies?
He loves me, He loves me not…
He loves me, He loves me…
He loves me…
He bends down and gathers
Bleeding teardrops from the floor
Slips them in a bottle…
“I love her, I love her…
I only love her more.”

Daisy petal teardrops
Gathered in a bottle …
He loves me, He loves me…
He loves me.
***
Psalms 56:8
***

…Because when ‘church’ represents Jesus, and justice has no place, survivors of abuse:
1) We weep our tears alone
2) We question God’s love for us and often lose faith completely

This is a reminder that He sees your every tear. He is not ‘church’ – the institution – He is love, He is truth, He is justice, He is compassion.
He loves you. He loves me.
There’s always one more daisy petal to end on love.

***

Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger 2018

 

 

INK SPILLS

INK SPILLS
Red ink
Spills on white paper
Paper thin hearts
Crumpled
Shredded
Cast aside
Crystal tears
Hit the ground
Shatter
Scatter
Left to die
Dying hearts
Bleed
Transparent tears
No one sees
No one cares
No one hears
Silent cries
Not a sound
As words
Bleeding pain
Carved deep
Etching tattoos
On wounded flesh and
Tender souls where
Red ink spills…

They button suits
Suit up in crisp white shirts
They tie their polished shoes
Walking carefully, they step in
Red ink, spilled on their floor…
They point to the noisy bleeding…
New shoes, with red footprints,
Crushing paper thin hearts
Broken
Crumpled hearts
Scattered here and there.
Who made this mess?
We didn’t know
They were there
Those angry
Bitter
Messy
Ones:
“Forgive
Forget
Move on!
You unforgiving souls!”

Aren’t those messy ones
So disruptive?

Have you noticed how good and kind I am?
Just like Jesus.
Do you see my beautiful new shoes?
These are my Gospel shoes
To spread good news.
We better go;
Go save souls
Do things that matter
For Jesus.

It’s such a beautiful day today,
Isn’t it?
The sunrise,
A brilliant red
Isn’t that cloud stunning?
Almost like a crumpled
Paper heart
Bleeding tears.

Have you ever wondered,
Does God cry?

***

God weeps
Crystal tears
Shattered
Scattered on the ground
His heart crumpled, crushed,
Stepped on
Bleeding
Red ink…
His blood
Staining
New shoes
His Love
Beating
Paper
thin
hearts
to life.

His life, His Love, His hope, etched in forever tattoos on my heart.

***

Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger 2018

I Will Take Her Place

One of the most freeing things I discovered in my Christian walk is that Jesus took my place. I knew that He died for me. That had been preached from the time I was an infant. But the revelation that He suffered to the extent of dying on the cross, out of pure love, because He saw value in me, was one that took years.

Out of my pain and rebellion, I chose a path that brought a lot of brokenness and even more pain into my life. And shame. Shame that gripped my mind and made me want to hide my story, my life. For years I did that. Only a few people knew teeny, tiny bits and pieces of that story.

Gradually, as Tim loved me without judgement, I started to get it. I am not the sum of the mistakes I have made in my life. My identity is found, not in what I have done, or even what was done against me. It is found in the love of Jesus. In the man who pursued me on that road to judgement and cried out on my behalf, “I love this woman… I will take her place.”

And as that visual struck me, the words to the following poem spilled onto paper…

I Will Take Her Place

I stumbled slowly

Up the steep incline

Driven by a whip.

I knew that I deserved to die

And yet I clung to life

 With every raspy breath:

Praying for mercy

Weeping for grace

Crying for freedom

I covered my face.

I could not bear the shame.

I knew that I deserved to die

I heard the laughing from the crowd

She’s a sinner! A disgrace!

She’s a harlot! She’s a waste!

 Then a firm and gentle voice cried out

Above the cursing crowd

“I love this woman!

I will take her place!”

I watched the Stranger reach for me

Walking up the steep incline

He took my cross upon his back

I watched them spit into his face

“He’s a fool! Let him die!”

The crowd began to chant

Then they beat him ‘til the blood

Flowed down the Stranger’s back.

As his tender gaze fell on me.

I bowed my head in shame.

I knew that I deserved to die,

I knew that I deserved his place.

But His kind and gentle hand reached out

Then lifting up my face,

His voice cried out above the din

“I love this woman!

I will take her place!

She prayed for mercy

She wept for grace

She cried for freedom

Now I will take her place!

I know that she deserves to die

But she can’t bear the shame

Yes she is a sinner

A harlot, a disgrace

But because I love this woman

I will take her place.”

Trudy Metzger ©

Poem: Beyond Betrayal

Looking back to those early days, and dreaming of life with Tim, as we planned for our wedding, it was a stark contrast from what I was familiar with in men. I realize how very blessed I was, and am, to have someone like him.

It could all have been very different. Most of the males in my life, prior to that time, left me broken, wounded and stripped of identity. It’s what I had known at home, and what I had come to expect.

When Howard stepped into the father role in my life, and treated me with dignity, respect and care, my expectation changed. I saw that I had value.  And that changed everything.

By the way he treated me, Tim redeemed the pain and trauma of the past. Where life had been suffocated, his gentle love brought healing and new life. At times, when I couldn’t express my heart any other way, I turned to poetry. Often poems would flow without effort, requiring almost no editing.

But when I thought of how Tim had moved my heart from a place of betrayal and fear of men, into a place of trust–moving me to a place Beyond Betrayal–I sat for hours, working on it.

This poem, written to honour Tim and the gift of his love, was a labour of love, as I tried to find words to show the contrast in the impact Tim had on me, and the state in which he found me, due to devastating aftermath of previous unhealthy male relationships. I felt as if all that life had stolen from me, was given back to me through his love…

© Trudy Metzger

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