If I die young
Or maybe when I’m old
Just look in my journals
For stories never told
Of longings and prayers
Offered up to the Throne
Of dreams and ideas
Never finding a home
And discover the real me
You never got to meet
Discover the hidden figure
Alone, in retreat
The Marmee, the melancholic
The good woman behind the great man
Then maybe, just maybe
You’ll understand
The God of infinite wisdom
Has heard every stroke of the pen
The God of infinite mercy
Has stooped low to hear me, to come close, to bend
And maybe you’ll hear
The heart of my cries
Maybe you’ll hear,
A mama’s lullabies
And maybe in my journals
The ones you will read when I’m dead
You’ll see I did my very best
I walked where He led
I faltered and failed
But I always, always knew it
I prayed and I cried
I struggled my way through it
And the God of all understanding
Saw the inside of my journal
The God of all comfort
Saw the eternal
I hope when I’m gone
And my memoirs you read
You’ll understand me differently
Let my sacred scribble comfort your grief
Let the words I penned to a Savior
While I lived
Be the legacy I leave behind
If I die young, my journal is the inheritance I give.
1.24.2022
9:27pm
CJZ
This poem can stand alone. It needs not this prose that follows. Yet, there are some complementary thoughts I wish to offer on the fifth anniversary of the blog, Sadie Speaks.
It is a common response and occurrence in survivor circles that prayer to God is difficult.
For years, I struggled. I could not wrap my head around the idea that The Lord could hear the prayers of my abusers and hear mine, too. One of the men who groomed and abused me was a Bible teacher, pastor and learned in theology; the other, studying for youth ministry. They were certainly the favored ones.
Sometimes I envisioned prayer like a really low ceiling in the caverns of the Mammoth Caves--no possible way that my signals could reach the God of the heavens.
Sometimes I envisioned prayer like a long line for Santa Clause at the mall. All the 'others' got in line before me and by the time it was my turn to tell Santa what I needed, wanted, desired or just to enjoy the 'jolly ol' elf' and the spirit of Christmas, Santa was tired, maybe cranky, disinterested, impatient and the mall was closing. Besides, He was going to give the gifts to the good kids who got there early. Clearly, I wasn't early to the prayer line. Clearly, I was not good. Even more clear, this is a nearly blasphemous view of God. He is the God who 'bends down to listen' (Psalm 116). He is the God who 'never sleeps or slumbers'. (Psalm 121)
He is the God who hears our prayers and is faithful to answer them.
The byline to Sadie Speaks is this: Finding Your Voice After Abuse. One of my prayers has been that the Lord would 'heal me from the inside out'. It was not until six years ago that I began to deeply process the sexual abuse and sexual violence that occurred in my teen years. In some ways, that has been a very public processing--on a blog, on social media, speaking out in circles that feel uncomfortable with survivors voicing truth. In a way, I thought that Finding My Voice meant blasting it across the socials, raising a fist to injustices, and (over)sharing my story to anyone who gave me a sympathetic ear.
I have come to learn that Finding My Voice After Abuse is more about the bearing of my soul to the Lord in prayer, in secret, in writing, in my private journals --to find my voice with Him-- that has been the healing. Jesus hears. 'Can we find a friend so faithful, who will all our sorrows share? Jesus knows our every weakness; take it to the Lord in prayer.' Hymn, "What a Friend We Have in Jesus"
He has been the One who understands. Moreover, my poetic voice has become prayer after prayer; rendering after rendering of story--the story of the ages:
Jesus came to make all things new.
He came to redeem your voice, your life and your stories of pain.
Did I find my voice or was I found by His mercy? I believe I was found.
With every stroke of the pen, Jesus found me.
I love the Lord because he hears my voice
and my prayer for mercy.
Because he bends down to listen,
I will pray as long as I have breath!
Psalms 116:1-2
Happy 5th Anniversary to the Sadie Speaks blog! My very first post went live on September 6, 2019 and was entitled, In the Shadow of Shame. (click to read)
You are now reading my 97th entry! When I pen my 100th post in a few short weeks, we will celebrate again! Written in my pen name, this blog has been a healing journey in a safe and sacred space to find my voice after abuse.
The Sadie Speaks site has been read in over 25 countries and all over the United States! This amazes me because it defies the lack of expertise on my part per technology or marketing. Many of my readers stay anonymous — considering the oft-repeated topics of domestic violence, intimate partner violence and sexual abuse, I understand. But I am both humbled and honored that so many have clicked to read, even once.
Truly, I hope readers have found their voice by hearing mine. I hope that my wrestlings with grief and forgiveness, anger and advocacy, prayers, prose and poetry have resonated in your inner places, in your life seasons and in your growth toward healing. I hope your faith has grown.
It would be my honor if you would continue to read the words that I shape and form and string together. It would be my joy if you engaged more, added your address to my contact page, shared my writings to other readers and followed me on new platforms I add, primarily Substack. There are other projects in my imaginings,
and I will keep you updated and informed! Stay tuned!
Writers like to be read. Artists like for you to see their work. Poets love to turn the phrase that brings you to emotion and of course, survivors deeply appreciate being understood and having folks like you in their corner.
So thank you. Thank you for five years of readership, encouragement, friendship, solidarity and listening to my lone voice, on the journey of faith, find her way.
Renewed,
Sadie
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