Be an encourager. Be an up-lifter. Be a promoter. Be the one who helps and prays. Be kind.
Below is a poem I wrote in 1984, at the tender age of 16. It was derived from a combination of typical teenage angst over a breakup, along with other traumatic events. I'm not sharing to depress, to elicit sympathy or to encourage inquiries regarding the circumstances.
I'm simply sharing because there are people along the way who have, whether they realize it or not, been my encourager. They've been my up-lifter. They've been my promoter. They've helped and prayed for me. They've been kind.
One encourager was my high school English teacher. I wrote this for an assignment that required our own take on a certain author's style (who, escapes me now). This rolled up out of me like acid reflux after a day of spicy food, downed with a gallon of orange juice. It burned. It hurt. I almost didn't turn it in.
When I received it back with my grade, along with the A+, there was a note: "You better save stuff like this."
This meant the world to a tormented teen.
Wish I could remember his name...this English teacher that helped me go on another day. I could do some research and find out, but that would entail asking people and may incite questions I'd rather not answer.
So, take this blog for what it's meant to be, please.
If you are walking down life's disheartening path, I'm living proof it gets better. Hang on. Because not only does it get better, you end up ridiculously stronger than you would ever imagine. God really does have you in the palm of His hand.
I don't even think I titled it, but here it is:
I sit alone, my love all gone
'Twas stolen, now I'm cold
I ponder on what used to be...
A memory, growing old
The pain burns deep, within my soul
Why must I never win?
Searching for answers, I turn to the sky...
The sun has lost its grin
Needing to see, a glimmer of hope
I turn to a maple 'cross the spring
My glance just catches the last brown leaf
Falling to the ground, on a broken wing
I walk down life's disheartening path
Not knowing where I'm bound...
The sky is still gray, the maple's still bare
As I trudge along the cold, damp ground