I will “let nothing be wasted” (John 6:12).
“Nothing, Lord?”
“Nothing.”
* * *
Not the weary years,
Not the silent tears,
Not the loneliness
Which caused that deep, echoing silence
in which we could hear you?
None of our failures
Which silenced the insistent voices
Of those who might otherwise have found a use for us?
We were nobody and nothing;
And in the vast silence which surrounded us,
We heard your signature sound:
A whisper.
* * *
And the bad days we planted which became bad weeks,
Bad years, wasted to bickering, quarrelling, and anger?
Even them?
And the times I could have been happy,
But I could not forgive.
And the times I tuned out everyone to write,
Forgetting “there is nothing but love.”
And the times when anger and sadness and self-pity
So exhausted me that I slept, oh ten hours, half the morning.
What good can come from them?
“I will let nothing be wasted.”
* * *
The wise learn wisdom from your Word,
The stupid learn it from experience.
I was stupid, Lord.
“I will let nothing be wasted.”
* * *
And when I overworked and burned out,
And, being too exhausted to read, still tried to read,
Those wasted hours and years?
Nothing was wasted.
And I got terrified and perfectionistic,
And revised pieces of work a hundred times,
And still have not finished my big book.
NOTHING IS WASTED.
* * *
The friendships, Lord.
Oh, how many people I could have loved.
I see their faces on Facebook now, and see how lovely they were.
But I allowed little things to annoy me,
And read and wrote and worried
That I wasn’t reading and writing more
Forgetting there is only love.
The marriage years I wasted to anger,
And fear that I would never write,
Or self-pity at my lack of help.
Will I still be as fruitful
as if I had spent them in praise and thankfulness,
hidden in the holy places of the Most High?
I and my sweet Roy.
We could have been so happy.
Everything was, is, given us.
But how we have fought!
Nothing is wasted.
And those sweet, adorable little girls
And me adoring them, and wanting to write too,
And writing often won.
And why did I not get it, Lord,
That love is all that matters?
I was there.
With them and with you.
I was there.
Nothing was wasted.
From these shards of shattered hearts
I make stained glass
Through which
Light shines.
* * *
I am worried, Lord.
Will I be as good as a writer as I could have been
If I had been disciplined,
Organised, a good housekeeper
Physically fit, an early riser
Not wasted time on anger
Used fragments of time to read?
I see you smile. I know it sounds silly.
I guess I am asking
“Will I be as good a writer as I might have been
If I were perfect?”
“Anita, to answer your question,
you will be a different writer
than if you had never wasted time
than if you had learned ‘the power of positive thinking”
than if you had learn to forgive
and run a minimalistic tidy house
and, well, had run.
But you will be the writer I intended you
to be from before the creation of the world.
All you lament was in my plan from the beginning of time
Your failures will help you reach a different group
Those of the human race
Who have failed as you have,
And they number more than you imagine.
“Arise, shine, for your light has come,
See the glory of the Lord all around you.”
* * *
“Mess, Lord!
I sweep it up,
Shards, tesserae, beach glass,
Broken vases, splintered shells, beads.
Take and receive, oh Lord:
The mess I have made of the jewels
You have lavished upon me, again and again.”
* * *
Nothing is wasted, He says.
I take what you give me:
broken jewellery, broken crystal, broken children’s crafts,
kid’s toys–never assembled, parts missing,
broken pottery, broken dreams, broken body,
And my hands work instantly, busily.
They mould, shape, join, paste,
And from what you thought was a Psyche heap
of broken baubles they create
Such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake,
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium.
Me too. I won’t repeat what others have already said, but what you wrote about God creating beauty from the broken pieces we offer him brought to mind the Japanese art of kintsugi – mending ceramics with gold resin to make something more precious than the original. And the recurring ‘there is only love’ reminded me of Thomas Centolella’s poem based on a phrase from St John of the Cross, ‘In the Evening We Shall Be Examined on Love’. Thanks for your writing.
‘In the Evening We Shall Be Examined on Love’. I have never heard that phrase before. I love it.
kintsugi – mending ceramics with gold resin to make something more precious than the original. I love that. There is something redemptive (and prophetic?) about it!
Beautiful. Have we not all felt that way? Even the perfectionists that apologize for their dirty house, when it is cleaner than mine when it is cleaned?
The Lord will restore the years of the locusts.
I used to wonder HOW the Lord could restore the years of the locusts, but now I have NO doubt that he can, and will, if he ask him to.
It is because he is immensely creative, and created our universe out of nothing, dust, mud…
I meant “has been.” 🙂
Anita, I love what God has and is doing with you.
Serena, thank you so much for your encouragement, and for reading and following the zigzags of my life 🙂
Such poignant words that penetrated my heart. I too feel that I have wasted so much time on vain pursuits and not pursued the ultimate goal of knowing Christ in a deeper way. Yet, the words you wrote, “Nothing is wasted,” echo, making me realize that God uses our failures and faults to hone into a vessel fit for the Master’s use. Beautiful words that keep me humbly turning to the Lord to guide my thoughts and use the pen to write His message as you most certainly do.
God bless you, Kathy!
I LOVE this, Anita. ‘I will…”let nothing be wasted.”‘ So much encouragement in those words. This blessed me today. Thank you for sharing your beautiful writing & your heart.
Thank you for reading, Angela! 🙂
This truly spoke to my heart this morning. Thank you for sharing your gift.
Susan, thank you so much!
encouraging as ever…simple honest truth, beautifully expressed-thank-you
Ali, thank you so much!
The breath of the Lord is in this piece. So moving.
“And they number more than you imagine.”
I too am a member of this club! We feel so alone, but we are not.
Don! Thank you. Writing it, I realised I was saying “What a writer I could have been had I been perfect!” but of course, none of us are perfect or we wouldn’t have the need of God!
Wonderful! Your writing brought me to tears! I am not perfect yet either..
Ah, thank you Maria. I was in tears too writing it–it was very much from my heart and life!