Let the women speak

“Let the women speak”

Read between these bold and flashing headlines
for the message to my sisters that we belong
standing silent in kitchens with bowed heads and backs,
that our testimony is an annoying fly to be swatted.

I’m shredding that message.

I am woman, no longer a bone from your body. God made me whole.
Cite me your old laws of how I am lesser, unclean, but I
am busy watching the Lord pick an adulteress off the ground and I
hear him telling a bleeding woman that her faith made her well.
Tell me all about my weakness but I
stand by the Lord who stopped everything to raise a dead son
for a weeping mother whose agony touched his soul.
He loved our complete selves, from tears to faith.

They killed Christ for his rebellion. You are still doing it.

Let the women speak. Listen to the wounded lives
struggling unseen in tearing bramble.
Hold up the girls, mothers, sisters, and grandmothers. It is time
for us to unlock our souls.

Call me heretic. I am watching the Lord lift a girl from her deathbed
and say she was only sleeping.

 

 

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Let the women speak by Briana Batty is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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Violinist

This poem was inspired by my cousin and her beautiful musical talent when I saw her perform in concert. She reminded me that the hard times should not steal our voices.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“Violinist”
For Julie
 
With what intensity, calm
sway, and sudden motion is
this blend of songful souls!
I remember the early strings you
ran over, young and bright, your excitement
a bursting fountain. Now here you sit with strong eyes
and practiced arms, part
of the motion of rhythm and note.
In all the gray days you have walked, still
your moment of music comes. You draw it out, playing
color into the rain. Yours is the melody that calls
to release and her cousin, peace.
 
 
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Violinist by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Sing

Hi everyone,
 
My campus pastor once told me that sometimes when we lose our faith, we can let others hold onto it for a while until we’re ready to come back. I have been blessed with a community and a family of believers who let me ask questions and never criticize me for them. When I am ready, they welcome me back with the arms of Christ. These are the strong voices I rely on, that I listen to, and I join in singing with day after day. Yes, sometimes my voice gives out, but the Holy Spirit always gives it back to me.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“Sing”
 
i have songs to sing
of God’s love and grace
and His wonder,
but my voice
doesn’t always hold out strong;
it breaks and falls away
warbles and wanders
into choked silence.
i feel inadequate.
fragile.
 
but when tears swallow my notes
i stand in a congregation that keeps singing:
i stand amidst family who carries on,
their voices encouraging me,
filling in my silence until
my voice is strong again.
see, i have learned
the song doesn’t stop
and it sweeps you back in.
when you think that you’re done
trust to the song—
when the time comes to sing
the Spirit fills your lungs
with all the words and voice you’ll need.
 
 
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Sing by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.