This poem started off in a familiar way; waking at about 5am. With an urging to pick up pen and paper and write. I presumed it was a response (or reaction) to the women’s camp, which I had just attended. However the Lord stopped me between vv.4 & 5 to show me an incident I didn’t even know I remembered, though the rest of the poem covers a lot more.
I remembered an argument between my older (by 6 years) sister and myself. Her hurting me, and me striking out in return, hitting a young teenager’s growing breasts, the first place my swing connected. My confusion at my parents’ anger, being sent to my room, crying, with no idea why she was being comforted and I rebuked when we had both hit out and she was bigger than me! All I knew was she got away with it and I took all the blame. Is this what stops me from showing pain? From freely crying in front of others? I may get rejected again, and the ‘knowing’ rejection will hurt more than the rejection received through not showing or admitting pain to others. I don’t know, God does, but maybe this poem will touch some tender spot in your heart; if so, please try to allow God to use it to help you.