Sometimes I write poetry, to calm my thoughts. I have a notebook full of couplets and limericks about the most emotional times in my life, words I never spoke out loud. I’ve heard many people say they hate poetry, but I don’t think poetry has to rhyme all the time. My older brother, who’s major related to poetry, would disagree with passion, but I never claimed to be a ‘proper poet’. Poetry is profound thoughts that are put together to paint a simple picture for the reader (in my opinion only… it can be whatever you think it is). It doesn’t have to be perfect, because the poetry isn’t always for other people. Sometimes it’s for you, to remember when your heart was broken, when you were filled with anger, when you felt like you committed a sin. I look back at my poetry, or my little notes, and remember. And then I grow, because the past hurts, but it doesn’t stop the present or the future.

Broken Cups

people are broken things,

like cups, or dreams.

we are fragile, confused, terrified.

we can’t tell what the future brings,

all we know is nothing is as it seems.

while being cut and bruised,

we cling to material things.

my dreams changed,

my perspective altered.

but somehow,

God still calls me His daughter.

a Beacon, a Light,

an Example, a Guide.

a Queen, a Diplomat,

Royalty.

this is what the Lord has named me.

i see the cracks, He sees the gold.

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Why am I talking about broken cups in this poem? What is the significance of a cup, especially a broken one?

One of the phrases I heard while growing up in the church is that God “pours out” His love, His grace, His mercy, etc. I don’t know about you, but when I visualize the phrase “pouring out,” I see a pitcher, and when you pour from a pitcher, especially a full one, it’s hard to control the amount of liquid pouring down, so it tends to come out fast, and all at once. That’s how I visualized that phrase: “pouring out.” It’s more than enough, it is in abundance.

But then I see myself, and I wonder how I could ever hold onto anything the Lord pours out in me. It seems like I’m nothing but cracks, and all that I wish I could hold slips right through them. I see myself as unworthy of what is being poured, and I sit like a broken cup in a cupboard: in the back corner, gathering dust, forgotten, practically invisible. I used to tell myself everyday, as soon as I woke up: I am invisible, no one sees me, no one can see me. Nothing I do matters in the world.

It’s like drinking poison straight from the bottle, talking to yourself like that.

See, what I later learned is that the things I do actually DO matter, very much so. Not only that, but I’m extremely visible, almost too much so (hence the name of the blog). And even if people don’t see me, God certainly does. Here I was, looking at all the cracks in who I am, not seeing that they can be filled with something even more precious: gold. Not seeing that once they’re filled in, God pours out that too-full pitcher yet again, and not only does it fill me up, but it spills out onto others. Scars are not anything to be ashamed of, they mark the battles you fought through and survived. It’s only when you don’t let those scars heal that you have a problem. Thats when they stop you from receiving anything good. Those wounds, if you don’t allow them to heal, will fester and fill with bacteria and infection, and it will kill you. Maybe not physically, but spiritually and emotionally, for sure.

If you keep staring at everything wrong with you, and you sit in the back of the cupboard like a broken cup, you will never be able to hold on to what is pouring out into you. It will slip away, and you will be left feeling sorry for yourself, wondering “Why, oh why does all of that good stuff never come to me?!” (I’m not even going to get into comparing your blessings and your life to other peoples’, but don’t do that either. Thats a whole other kind of poison).

I forget, all the time, the power of words, the power of forgiveness. Not just forgiving and speaking good things to others, but also forgiving and saying good things to myself. And I don’t mean just saying stuff to make yourself feel better, but also not saying things that tear open the wounds on your heart over and over again. That’s the gold, you see. It’s forgiveness, it’s faith in all the promises God has promised, it’s letting go of everything else you couldn’t and can’t control. Gold is accepting that you can’t control the world, but you can control how it affects you, and let the scars on your heart and soul heal.

So the message of my little poem is this: let your scars heal, and let them be filled with gold. Don’t sit in the back of the room, pretending you’re invisible to everyone else, and remember: all those promises you’ve heard? They are still waiting for you. The only one really holding them back is you.

Let your cup be filled up till it overflows, and remember that it is not you who controls the pouring, but it is you who controls the receiving.