My Name Means Strong

Hi everyone,
I wrote this poem to reflect on how God has given me strength in my faith through His Holy Spirit, and how that strength remains with me even when I or my circumstances change. My middle name, Briana, means “strong,” and so I explored how this name and its meaning are part of me in my life and faith journey. God offers strength to all of us, whatever our names, so we can stand firm through all our hard times.
(The mustard seed reference comes from Matthew 13:31-31. The well reference is from John 4:4-26)
God bless,

“My Name Means Strong”
Dedicated to my parents, who named me and taught me real strength
my name means strong.
  I face an uncertain answer and
   a road scuffed with question marks.
   I do not turn away.
my name means strong.
    it was given to me before I understood it,
   when my legs didn’t walk yet and
       my eyes were weak and new.
    it will be mine when I fall more than I stand
        and blindness dims my sight.
my name means strong.
     it was set like a precious stone 
        in the middle of three names,
    placed firmly at the core.
my name means strong.
    days come when I double over
 and cry.
     days come when I 
  stare, hopeless, at the dawn.
     days come when other arms
         carry me home.
my name means strong.
    it does not change, for it is
      watered by a deep well and
   grown from the stuff of
        mustard seeds.
my name means strong.
     failure cannot shake it,
  losses cannot take it,
     burdens cannot break it.
my name means strong,
     and I am 
                      Briana, Strong.

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My Name Means Strong by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.


Why I Write

Hello everyone,
I wrote this poem by request for a theme at church one week about the creative gifts of the congregation. I was asked to think about why I write poetry, and here is one answer.
God bless,

“Why I write”
I write to 
      catch holy moments from the air
  like blowing seeds on the wind,
           to plant them on paper
                 and watch ink spread in spring leaves
                          every passersby can see.
I write to connect
        other wondering, doubting,
               aching people who are
                       waiting across a 
                          divide of silence,
                          unsure what to say
  to a truth and a love
       that lifts spirits with a healing song. 
I write to ask,
       to learn,
  to pray,
     and to seek
the Great and Holy Word 
        and leave a bookmark behind
so someone might read about
           who freed my heart.
Letters form my path
   forward, marking milestones,
mourning losses.
I write to 
    ask questions from my depths
to write out my doubts,
    face them.
I write to talk
    to God:
       a paper dialog where the Word
     meets the beginning words of a
            child learning. 
Into a canopy I can sit beneath
     and pray
I write to speak when my tongue fails me
      I write to ask questions,
           I write to sing simple silent joys.
I write to celebrate, mourn, 
      wonder, doubt, and grow.
I write to explore
      the Word so vast and intricate
that even a brush with its truth
        loosens fountains of letters
    from me.  
I write because we were born
        from the Word 
             and the Word is still speaking.

Creative Commons License
Why I Write by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

The Fisherman

Hello everyone,
This poem is about the calling of the disciples. I focused on the story of Peter, found in the Gospel of Luke. Peter and his fellow fishermen hadn’t caught any fish all day, but when they listened to Jesus’ instructions, they suddenly had a huge catch. The miracle made Peter realize who Jesus was. I explored Peter’s internal reaction to the miracle and the call to follow Jesus.
God bless,

“The Fisherman”
By Morgan Prettyman
Luke 5:1-11
at the word of a stranger
    I sail to the deep water
      that has done nothing for me all night
  but disappoint.
        my fine fishing nets hang empty, arms drag
     exhausted, shoulders sag.
 there is nothing here.  I will prove it
    to him. 
I do as he says and 
    cast the nets again.
but as I throw them over the side
   my heart
        plunges in shock at the weight
   of the unexpected catch,
      the unexpected understanding. 
I am in the net, flapping in and out
     of the water in surprise
         at my first breath of real air,
dying to my old world and
      rising up to the new.
hauling in the shaking nets,
   I turn to the stranger on my boat
and see the Fisherman 
     smiling at his catch.

Creative Commons License
The Fisherman by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.