Faith smaller than a mustard seed: An Open Letter to God.

My Lord,

Hi.

Actually, I don’t know what to say, or perhaps I’m not sure HOW to say it. Remember when I told you I want out? I was serious that time. I still want to be out, you know. It’s because I’m tired of feeling hurt and ignored. I’m tired of disappointments. Not just in your part, mine as well. I am hurt every time I feel like you disappoint me, though I know, in my heart, you’d answer me, I just have to wait. But see, I’m too weak to wait. And for that I am disappointing you, in return. Every time, I disappoint you, I end up blaming myself to the point of condemnation.

And every Christian knows only worse things come out from condemnation.

I wish I can tell you I’ll be stronger this time, that I’ll be more trusting to you this time. I’m afraid I can’t. I need help. I’ve been in sought of that HELP from you ever since I learned how serious and hopeless my case is. I’m drowning, Lord. I’m also falling. I can’t breathe.

Here’s the thing though, even though I voluntarily turned my back on you, I never felt like you left. No, that’s too much faith. What I mean is that you’re being too easy on me. You don’t give me so much struggle just to force me to get back to you; to accept you again. No, I am in perfect faith you won’t go that far.

Is this faith enough?

I thank you for I think you’re giving me time for myself. You want me to be calm, to relax for a while and get rid of this anxiety that’s been gnawing at me for a long time now. You want me to get some rest, abandon my worries for a while. You want me to clear my mind and be not pressured or stressed of my adversaries and afflictions. You want me to find myself again.

But my Lord, I don’t think I’m having success in the matter. Did I find myself already? Do I know myself more now? Do I understand what’s and have been happening to me all these time?

I don’t have the answer Lord, I’m afraid.

Maybe, somehow, there’s a little faith still left in me for you, but I’m not sure if it’s enough. It must have been even smaller as a mustard seed. And so it must be the littlest faith any Christian can ever have. My faith, it’s too little and meager. Would you want it?

I know you have other children who have faith bigger than the Milky way, so maybe mine would be so insignificant. It may seem not needed and no place in your kingdom. Would you give me at least a place on your doorway, or maybe the windowsill. Any place would do, I just want to be in your presence again.

I want to be with you. But then, would you  have me, Lord?

I can’t promise to be different from what I was before. But then again, I’m not entitled to make any promises, only to rely on yours. It’s your job Lord, to make promises and see them to pass. Would you still have me even if I act like this? With little faith and too much complaints, would you have me?

This depression, this anxiety, I want to get rid of them, yet it’s not that easy. How can I rid of something I’ve been carrying ever since I realized that the world isn’t the best place for weak ones like me to live? It’s been my companion most of my life Lord, and maybe I should be tired of it to get rid of it. But it doesn’t go.

I’m tired of it, alright. I hope my relationship with you, our closeness, did the trick. It didn’t. I still wake up every morning and sleep at night helplessly thinking something will go wrong eventually. Tis what anxiety does to me. And I want it to stop. But how?

This little of faith of mine, if you would have me back my Lord, ’tis only I can offer. The littlest faith you’ll ever know and yet I am not ashamed of it. I somehow believe this. This will take me far enough to be happy. I’ll go as far as from here to THERE. Even the smallest dust can travel far, given the right guide from the wind.

I need the right guide. Would you provide it for me?

This, I realize, is hubris-an overbearing arrogance. How can I ask you of this after everything I’ve done, after I turned my back on you in the most deliberate manner, every devout Christian could ever imagine? Frankly, I feel like I’ve done worse than all the mistakes and sins of all your beloved disciples combined.

There, talk about anxiety to the highest level. 😦

Lastly, My Lord, if you would have me, I have one question. Is it possible for embers to catch fire once again? After the initial fire has died? ‘Cause you see, My Lord, that’s all I am now-an ember. And I’m so scared no fire would ever rekindle in me again and I’d end up to ashes.

Just as my faith a dust-size, myself as ashes. Dust and ashes, if they have something in common it is DEATH.

And that’s what I’m afraid the most. Thus, I’m turning back to you. You are life-so I’ve heard.

 

—-LILI

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A Piece for My self

Lesson Learned: Always leave something for yourself even if it’s just a single piece.

A poem I’ve written when I was twelve. Luckily, I’ve kept a notebook full of my old poems, but anyway, I remember every word of this particular poem by heart because it was when I wrote this that I realised how, indeed, life is full of heartbreaks.

Note: Don’t judge me, I was only twelve. Any form of criticism is not allowed because you don’t criticise a child of her work. Though I think I was a better poet before than now. Life ruined me and my passion.

TITLE: A PIECE FOR MYSELF

I gave another piece,

And I shuddered as he flees.

I am running out

and south.

I ain’t God.

As well not bad.

So I gave one to a friend.

To mom and her husband.

A stranger needed one.

I could’ve just turned.

Granny powdered a couple,

when she pushed us into a fold.

At least two I gave,

to each man I used to love.

One, I still long.

His name, I still moan.

For what is worth,

Of giving but nought-

I got.

Just bitten, beaten.

And forced by the brink.

To every side I will fall.

Foolishly, to a cliff I crawl.

Piece by piece, I gave.

Now empty is my chest,

I worry. Lest,

Nothing to give.

For I have never received.

Dying is my soul,

As I’m about to take the fall.

Almost Naked, half-pent:

To jump I bent.

But stupid hand,

Held some wand.

But no wand at all.

A pen I hold.

So bright

came the light.

I gave a piece to a pen.

A pen I still tend.

Something gave back,

A piece that is red. 

A piece for my self, it gave.

So I wrote a word.

Then another.

The piece,

as time flies.

It’ll grow,

In it’s due.

There’ll be pieces,

Not red ones,

But in black and whites.

 

As I said earlier, always keep a piece for yourself. Or rather, choose someone, or something, that will surely give back or won’t flee after getting a piece of you. Giving is good, great even, but giving our all and not leaving for ourselves is just wrong. We also need to live as much as every body else around us.

As for me, writing saved me. It was something that I gave my heart into and gave back. It made me realise that I still have something to hold onto.

How about you, what’s keeping you alive. Be sure to give a piece of you to ones that/who matter.

 

Making Pieces,

Lili