Jehovah Jireh

Jehovah Jireh

A Poem by Lindsay Elizabeth

Tonight I find myself alone:
notebook open, the smell of citronella burning, and a choir of cicadas chirping 
like they always do in August. 
Maybe it’s the solitude of a midsummer night dreamer but the only thing I want to do
is pen to words all the sharp turns
that life has thrown at me: 
like the evening we sat together
round a square table
eating out of Chinese food containers
fortune cookies cracked 
only to find that someone forgot to fill them with a future. 
In times like this life does not ask but tells:
it does not give but takes. 
And does it make me the fool for believing that maybe I just need to be told?
That maybe I need to loosen up my full-throttle grip clenched fist fingertips fit pressed press pressing into palms it’s mine give me time not this my precious no! 
Let it go. I don’t have control. 
If I, with open hands, were 
to unpocket these color-swirl 
marbles that look so perfect as I turn them over against the dimly lit sky of my night ramblings 
maybe he would send me pearls 
that would not reveal themselves to be just glass 
but would grow only more lovely when truth hit my windowsill.
But still
why is it that an unseen future has the power to turn pain to paranoia--to send me on a panicked rant in which I end up living down the street from my parents in a studio apartment with seventeen cats?
What is it about the unknown that makes me feel
by the one who created me but who didn’t exactly take the time 
to perfectly create the rhyming
of my life’s poetry--
like I begin in iambs then
my stanza ends.
Does the Author of Life have a plan
for the rest of his poem?
Will it all come full circle in time with a divine breath of irony
to prove that my fears are false and my future is full
and that I am not alone
and that I am known
and that I am known
and that I know that I am loved by the Eternal Poet.
How deep the Father’s love for us! How vast beyond all measure!
To live in peace would be an awfully great adventure. 
I will continue on in this free verse
taking what beauty rhyme and meter grant to me but believing that there exists love in white space-- 
that the great expanses between words and movement
are just moments to reflect 
on what’s been said and what’s been done
and not moments to worry of what will be
Be still and know that he is God. 

© 2018 Lindsay Elizabeth

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Added on July 30, 2015
Last Updated on September 13, 2018