This is my Manasseh
I remember writing my second poetry book. I remember when I started. Where I was. How I felt. Every emotion and self depreciated thought that came spilling out of my head. I had made an empty church of myself. Reeking of almond wood and holy oil. Naked pews. Nobody to hold a tune for. The choir in my stomach, I only sang out tears. When I received the first print of it, I couldn’t read it in full. My heart ach’d too much to see myself in such a vulnerable state. As much as I loved bleeding on paper, I hated the evidence of it. I recently picked up the book a couple days ago and I did not cringe as I usually do. It did not sting me to see the color of love and sadness in one gaze. I embraced all of its warmth and felt only one thing:
The need to repent, again.
On the surface it is a story of love and heartbreak. The day my heart found someone it could give almost all its love to. He made me think and those questions evaded my life. Laughter, warmth and safety were the meals of my day. I thought, wow— someone who sees me and loves me the way I want to be loved, my heart held on to his words like water in a vessel. But he is human and frail and unfortunately not the honey for my soul.
I can remember how it hurt. A ballad of complex emotions holding me to a thin. When I couldn’t put in account my scattered thoughts, all the threatening that climbed out of my skin.
The companionship I sought, the intimacy I wanted, the friendship I desired, the tenderness I needed— could only be found in my God. The grace of God salvaging me from myself. How I sought those things in frail humans to try to fill me. I paid for it with my tears and heart. When everything is violent. When the world is clawing its fingers around my throat and gentleness is not an option.
I know now, there is no happy ending, just a glorious one.
Nowadays I am a sea of words; asking God to split me open—- and He does; walks across my naked floors. Fills me up in His embrace.
When loneliness calls me and tries to choke out my song. When the memories evade my day, my thoughts and sleep. I must hold on to the One who knows me and calls me by name.
And I do.
Some days my pride cries out more than a repenting heart. My ego, my ego, my ego is burning on paper. A self righteous act to clean my name before mud tries to get on my pretty dress.
A lie to save face but not to save my soul. Oh my heart, my heart, my heart be still.
I ask God for mercy, for giving myself to self.
I can let it all go, I can let it all go, I let it all go. You can take it from here…
Joseph named his eldest son Manasseh, derived from Hebrew, to forget—-because God allowed him to forget the trouble he faced. (Genesis 41:51)
Sometimes heartbreak is precisely what you need to get to the next version of yourself. You think it’s about one person or a relationship or a group of people, but really it’s about your entire life. If I didn’t let my heart break I wouldn’t have found out what was inside of me. I would have stayed small— waiting for permission, believing I was not good enough to be loved. I’m also not condoning you go out and break your heart carelessly. Whatever Manasseh is for you, let it be forgotten. Sometimes that doesn’t come easy or come overnight but let the sting of it be removed. When we give people grace like that, I think it invites conviction. It invites God in and our hearts are examined.
My second book is my Manasseh.
Joseph later names his second son Ephraim, derived from Hebrew meaning, fruitful——because God had made him fruitful in the land of his suffering. (Genesis 41:52)
Writing my Ephraim soon…
I am writing you love letters from Hilo.
I pray you read this with hope and love. With joy and expectation— knowing Jesus loves you but more importantly He needs you to grow up— in your word reading, praying, believing, hoping, looking for His return.
All my love,
G.
