disappointment one more time
We ask for the breeze to blow. Or the sun to shine. We ask for the flowers to bloom. Or the news to be good just one time.
We carry much–expectations and hopes, dreams and desires. Or we don’t, because disappointment, time and again, has taught us to not count on good things anymore. Not for us, anyway.
Fear can make any dream feel impossible to achieve. So taking one small step toward the dream feels useless, a waste of time. We are scared of the blow to our hearts if we fail one more time.
Believing in other people’s goodness is no easy task either. Not when they hurt us. Or we hurt them. And we struggle to pick ourselves up again. Try again. One more time.
But here is where we turn: if there is an ache in your heart, let yourself feel it. Articulate it. Let it tell you a story. Let it grab hold of your hand and point you the way toward understanding the deeper places that hurt.
What has disappointed you this week? What did you run towards with your hurt?
Will you write about that now? Find a few sentences that uncover the deeper truth within you you would otherwise never know?
And then, don’t stop there. After you have written down the disappointment–you’ve claimed it and tried to understand it–take one more step now. Offer these words of disappointment to God. What does He have to say about them? What is He speaking back to you?
Consider sharing your poem below. Or share it on social media using the hashtag #looppoetryproject.
Let your heart rise now. We are leaning in close. Longing to hear from you.
love,
jennifer
The Reconsidering
for J.O.
Describe it, the sound of a voice
cracking, a soul trembling
over the phone when it is just us two,
your voice and mine connecting
and we rely upon words to
heal, bring solace, offer a story to
make sense of what?
the reason why we choose
to protect ourselves from each other
at all cost and then feel the tearing open—
our tearing open,
self-preservation a thing of the past because
we don’t know how to do it now,
preserve what once was,
for there is sometimes (never)
a going back to what once was
only letting shame kill
its children and regret
bury its dead
and letting pain billow
in undulations
(keep feeling don’t stop feeling)
until it strengthens us
and we are not what we once were,
look, look, at the fire burning now.
13 Comments
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We had faith in our Medical System,
Something broke that Faith.
A microbe in the air that spread through the world.
BUT, it will not hurt Us for Our Science is above all others.
WHAT? This microbe has invaded us? We have never seen it.
People suffer and die as we see it spread from one to another.
NO CURE! We turn to Our Almighty and Pray that we will be spared
And help our Scientist turn to The Almighty to help us find The CURE!
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Thank you, Maryann. I love how your poem speaks to the confusion in our hearts and the disruption of our lives.
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~Hidden Conflict~
Standing behind the door of choice,
Peeking tentatively through the window blinds of anxiety and doubt.
Afraid it will turn out the same
Petrified it will turn out differently.
False bravado keeping at arm’s length –
The infinite possibilities of hurt and pain.
As long as the choice remains undecided,
That which is yet unborn cannot die.
Unfulfilled yes, but also untainted.
Pure. Safe. Unspoiled.
Dare to dream a while longer?
This limbo that hurts more than it heals,
The incessant ache comfortable in its familiarity.
Stasis. Immobility. Stagnant.
What if’s bubble up from hidden depths of longing,
Breaking through the surface in random bursts of courage—
Trembling hands reach forward to grasp the handle,
Only to pull back reluctantly.
Not today,
Maybe tomorrow. . . if not tomorrow, then someday.
Better to suffer the pain that is known than the pain that isn’t.
False narratives give platitudes that sour the soul,
The sweet lies more palatable than nourishing truth.
Weak. Coward. Unworthy . . . .
A faint hint of incense interrupts the shame spiral,
Otherworldly and potent it infiltrates every recess,
Soothing and sure in its intent –
Purposefully invading every dark crevice.
Exposing. Revealing. Healing. Revitalizing.
Looking up for reassurance, hope whispers:
“Will you hold my hand?”
Grace answers with a smile:
“Never alone. Never forsaken.”
Reaching towards the handle,
one small hand safely ensconced under one adorned with the mark of nails.
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This is so beautiful and says so much. I feel in such a place too. Lets have courage..just one more time.
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I love this so much! I stay in the past and in comfortable situations way too much and want control of everything instead of moving forward and being hopeful! Thankyou for this beautiful poem!
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Thank-you, Sharis. This is beautiful. I can very much identify!
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Thank you, Sharis. Your poem resonates, speaking to those deep places in us. We feel it; and we are not alone because your poem says you are feeling it with us too. Love the hope offered.
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I wish I can stand up and have FOCUS in building and LET my AFTER-SHOOL CARE CENTRE BE THERE AND BE BUILD. I NEED TO STAND FOR MYSELF BUT UNEMPLOYED IS MY PROBLEM.
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Another day another dollar
So they say…
A step closer or so it seems
Further away.
I hold on tight and try again to rise above and shift my focus
Fill my mind
My heart
My spirit
With Him.
His words of Life
Of love and grace
I want to believe for more but do I dare
This disappointment and despair
It drowns me
Overwhelms me
And then…
I remember His name and what He did
I am revived again.
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Thank you so much, Dianne. Your poem reminds me I am not alone in my varied emotions and invites me to remember what is true.
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Jennifer, I love what you were saying about self protection and to feel and not stop feeling. You are right. Feelings come in wave after wave. I am giving into the flood waters. I am not transformed by my disappointment. Like a swarm of rioters, setting fire after fire…I no longer have the strength to defend or care for my soul. Disappointment is woven so deeply. It shouts and screams how much of a coward I am for giving up. I’ used to shout above the disappointment and use my voice to speak love, sense and goodness into what I thought would be OUR forever. But it has been me…on the outside looking in at a rejected bride through the veiled disappointment of being unheard no matter how many rants, letters, or attempts at discussion. Other than the weather or one word answers, meals are deafeningly quiet. My own heart valve ticking in my chest breaks the silence. Overwhelming loneliness and longing breaks into shards, my already fractured hope.
If there was any room held for me in his world, it disappeared under the weight of a new diagnosis further distracting him from US, to survival. I try, (although self-protected), to be loving and kind while watching the “someday“ dream of WE carried away, pummeled by waves of what was, what is, and what seems will never be. Numbness sets in and gives way to mindless game apps, or other busy work to forget just how much disappointment I have about my still being here after all this time. Time I will not get back, so I do what I can to forge ahead looking for the Divine to breathe life into my hope-deferred, heart-sick soul.
I apologize..that was not in poetry form. I just had to express as it came. (I’ve been so shut down.)
As always, Jennifer, heartfelt gratitude for being here freely giving love, grace and sharing your incredible gifts!! ❤️
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Elizabeth, your words here are beautiful, a treasure of vulnerability and strength. Thank you so much for sharing your heart here. You are not alone. And your courage in searching and claiming the words to your heart is powerful and so appreciated.
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Raw. Scraped raw. In shreds.
That is my heart. The heart of a mother.
Wounded. Again. Again. Again.
Hurt and in despair.
Disappointed again.
My heart opened up again. But the razors of your vicious words scraped it raw.
I want to feel love. But out of the wounded places only hatred comes.
Worry, fear, and anxiety are born at the sound of your voice.
Uncertainty. Unpredictability.
Broken promises. Untrust. False statements. Twisted stories. Unreliable.
Trust in the only One who can change my heart and make it whole. Make it new. Make it love again.
Reliable is He who keeps His promises and never lets me down.
It is He, my Lord and my God, who never disappoints.
He holds my raw heart in His gentle Hands.
And whispers…. “I will mend this, my dear.”
And so, when I am hurt and disappointed again, I look in a different direction. I turn my heart toward my Gracious God.
He will shield it for me. From the sharp arrows of your hurtful words. He will hold it in His Hands. And He will feel the pain so I don’t have to.
My Gracious God.