writing

Recently a friend of mine sent a note along via Facebook including a wonderful poem about Christians. The poem I read had given credit to Dr. Maya Angelou and it read as if she had written it. However, in the course of wanting to give credit to where she had published this, I found out that she had been given false credit. I’m not sure why some choose to take words from one and give them to another – more famous perhaps – author, but that was the case for the poem you will read below.

As a Christian, I am often labeled in some sort of fashion that put a negative view on what I believe. Most of the time I don’t let it bother me, mainly because I know who I am and what I believe. I know that I can be a hypocrite at times. I know that I am not perfect. I try to be the best person I can in all circumstances.

But I also need to learn, I need to get myself into the Bible each and everyday and strive to be better than who I was the day before. While I will never be perfect — no human being can be — I can still strive to help others, be a friend to those in need and set an example to kids (and maybe even adults) around me.

Here is the original version of the poem…

When I say “I am a Christian”
© 1988 – Carol Wimmer

When I say, “I am a Christian,” I’m not shouting, “I’ve been saved!”
I’m whispering, “I get lost! That’s why I chose this way”

When I say “I am a Christian,” I don’t speak with human pride
I’m confessing that I stumble – needing God to be my guide

When I say “I am a Christian,” I’m not trying to be strong
I’m professing that I’m weak and pray for strength to carry on

When I say “I am a Christian,” I’m not bragging of success
I’m admitting that I’ve failed and cannot ever pay the debt

When I say “I am a Christian,” I don’t think I know it all
I submit to my confusion asking humbly to be taught

When I say “I am a Christian,” I’m not claiming to be perfect
My flaws are far too visible but God believes I’m worth it

When I say “I am a Christian,” I still feel the sting of pain
I have my share of heartache which is why I seek His name

When I say “I am a Christian,” I do not wish to judge
I have no authority — I only know that I’m loved

*today’s lyric title: Carrie Underwood – “Jesus, Take the Wheel”

This week I am participating in a Christmas creative writing swap… and I have had soooo much fun with it!!!

I was paired up with Pam from Reflections of a Neurotic Writer. I love her poem below… and when you are done reading it — go check out my creative piece.

Recently I joined a new blog community for writing and today is our first “challenge” or story. When I got back into writing earlier this year, I wanted to share stories here — or feature more of my writing here, but just didn’t find the “time”. (You know how time can be an elusive thing!) So now I am “making” the time.

And here goes nothing…

This week our challenge is to find a person in public and study their character. Make a story surrounding them. Build them into a short essay.

Her hair blew out of her cap as she stood at the bus stop. The newly dyed blonde locks swirling in the cold air as she stood silently waiting for the bus to arrive, waiting for her ticket out of this mess. There wasn’t much left for her here. Even though it was the big city, she felt lost… alone… and most of all misguided.

Josie was escaping from the reality that had grabbed hold of her and Greyhound was her ticket out. This ticket cost half of her savings to trek across the land in search of something new. Searching for a new identity without changing who she really was or what she believed. Searching for a life where she would be sought out for her talents rather than used for them.

The roar of the bus grew louder as it came barreling down the street. As it stopped in front of the old army building, Josie took her last look at the place she grew up. The place that had given her hope but had also shattered her dreams. A place where she played hopscotch and jumped in the water from the fire hydrants on hot summer days. The alley where she had her first kiss and the stairs where she had broken her leg only a few months earlier. The apartment where her parents raised her, giving her a lifetime of memories, now sitting empty and abandoned.

Inching closer to the door, Josie lifted her backpack of belongings on her shoulder and secured her long hair under her cap once again. She wasn’t prepared for all of this, after all it was a spur of the moment decision. She knew hiding wouldn’t fix anything, but she also knew that staying could keep her a hostage in the life she knew. All she wanted was something new, but still something familiar.

Climbing the steps on the bus, Josie followed an elderly woman carrying a quilted bag. The bag was heavy and the woman struggled to maneuver it past the other passengers already seated. The woman took the first available seat, one of only a handful left. Josie scanned the bus looking where the other seats remained and chose to sit next to the woman she followed, hoping that she wouldn’t be asked a million questions about why she was here.

The woman said “hello” and Josie responded back with the same, and both turned back to facing the front of the bus. As the bus door closed, Josie felt relief coming upon her. A sense of peace, hope perhaps, that everything would get better. That she would find a way to live.

I’m at a loss for blog words today. Don’t worry… I have plenty to say – just may not be appropriate to put here. It’s been one of “those weeks” already. Oh well… it will get better. It just has to.

So in lieu of this… and because I haven’t put a lot of my writings up here yet, here’s a short poem I did a while back. Enjoy…