Thinking about when you cry out to God, possibly under great duress, and he seems absent. Why would he do/allow that? Why would he make us ask him again and again? Or why would he answer “no” to a begging for relief? This poem isn’t about all the reasons why he might (I can think of more; perhaps I shall write poems on them too), but it is about one of them from my own life.
(My feast example was inspired by a memorable scene in C. S. Lewis’s book The Last Battle.)
On a day at the end of last semester where I had a gap of delightful free space to breathe, and walk on campus, and reflect and pray and write a poem in the library, I found myself marveling at how rather than just reveling and enjoying the time, how strong the pull was to get in my head and get lost in guilt and such. How many times I have frittered away joy.
Just because one is declared emancipated doesn’t mean he or she knows how to actually live in that freedom.
I need to keep learning it.
Title and some imagery are from one of the most poignant chapters in the whole Bible, Ezekiel 16.
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