Category: Spoken Word

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Ashes and Dust

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

Mark Stanley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I walk towards your altar and stand with my brothers in a line.
Each step bringing us deeper into the chorus.
“Miserere mei, Deus, secundus magnum misericordia tuam“.
Have mercy upon me, O God, after thy great goodness.
In turn, I kneel down before the altar,
bowing my head and mouthing the words along with the Father
“You are but dust and to dust you shall return.”
He takes his thumb and marks my head with ashes
a visual reminder of the truth I now understand.
I have not loved. I have not been patient. I have not spoken truth.
I am but dust, and to dust I shall return.
At this altar, I have been forced to confront my own reflection
and to face the ashes and dirt I have tried too long to hide.

And as I resign myself to a prison of isolation,
I am invited to feast on your own flesh.
But I have seen who I am and the glory that You are.
And I am hesitant to approach you-
to be near one so Holy- so fully other than who I know myself to be
Still like a magnet attracted to it’s opposite,
I am compelled forward towards the altar once again.
Stepping between the ranks of your saints pouring water into my thirsty soul.
“The Lord is full of compassion and mercy: long-suffering and of great goodness.”
Their words are slow to seep in, so they repeat them over and over again.
“The Lord is full of compassion and mercy: long suffering and of great goodness.
“The Lord is full of compassion and mercy: long suffering and of great goodness.
Yes! “The Lord is full of compassion and mercy: long suffering and of great goodness.”
And as they reach their final forte, I fall to my knees
and the mercy I have been withstanding washes into me.
Head bowed and hands open, I can do nothing but receive.
If you are willing Lord, you can make me clean.

Bread is placed in my hands but I dare not look up.
I simply raise what is offered to my starved lips.
“This is the body of Christ broken for you.”
And I eat of it.
The cup is raised to my mouth and I taste of the wine.
“The blood of Christ spilled for you.”
I taste the bittersweet mercy of your broken body
miraculously making me whole.
I feel the blood you shed wash over my ashes
replacing them with new life.
And I stand knowing that I am yours and yours alone.
This wretched sinner whom you have called your own-
No longer made of ashes but an eternal soul.

 

Spoken Word

Wind Turbines

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

This past fall, I drove by myself to Chicago. It’s my second time doing this, and I think I-65 might be one of the most beautiful drives in America.

When I came to Illinois, it was past 10pm and out of nowhere come these bright red flashing lights. It’s eery. And they go for miles and miles and miles. But on the way home, I always meet those same wind turbines with the early morning sun, and it’s sheer beauty. Just look at those colors. The feeling I get is completely different, even though I’m looking at the exact same thing- only the lighting changes.

So, out of that thought, I wrote this poem, cleverly titled “Wind Turbines.” Making a movie was never my intention, but I had some footage from the drive that I thought would make a cool addition, so that’s kind of how this all came together. If you’re a film person, I apologize in advance. 🙂

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=01bM91jvHQI

Spoken Word

Armor

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

 

I have donned this armor to cover up flesh
to hide the weakness that I have trapped within.
I’ve replaced this flaccid skin with shining steel,
in hopes that their weapons will not penetrate and somehow I might
become the warrior in whose armor I hide
I slip my foot into a boot that is six sizes to big.
and the breast plate supplied comes up to my ears,
There’s just too much empty space that I can’t fill.
I hoped that this armor would make me complete,
but it only shows how small I truly am.
It only shows that I am not who I want to be.
I am but a child who stepped into this facade of steel
that promised protection, that promised strength
but it only seems to be making it harder to breathe.
The weight bears down against me;
It clatters like chains dragging on the floor
that I am trying to break free from.
But the only way to break free from chains
is to simply take them off.
For what good is strength if it only leaves you paralyzed?
What good is protection if means you are trapped?
So I remove each piece,
finding freedom with each vulnerability.
Once again, I make visible my penetrable skin.
No, I am not the warrior this task requires,
but still I go forth.

Spoken Word

Anxiety

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

What if I wrote a poem about my anxiety attacks? I said to myself one day.

The funny thing is, I  actually thought it was a good idea until now.

But, it’s too late and I’ve spent too long pouring over each and every word to make sure it’s as close to perfect as I can manage, so here goes vulnerability. I’ve struggled off and on with Anxiety for about 2 1/2 years now. Change and I aren’t the best of friends (if she’s walking down one sidewalk, I will jaywalk across 6 lanes of traffic to get to the other side so that I don’t have to run into her). Roughly 3 weeks before I graduated colleges in 2013, things started to get messy. Things meaning me. I was a mess. I ate PB&Js for 2 weeks straight (all meals) because I couldn’t force myself to eat anything else. I had a full time job that I adored lined up for the summer, and Graduate School after that, but I just didn’t want to leave the city that became my first home and the friends that loved me like family. That’s when the anxiety attacks came. Over the years, I’ve gone to several counselors (and still am now) that have helped me learn to manage and even stave off the anxiety . It’s been a extremely difficult, but really amazing (just not at the same time). 

This poem obviously reflects the darker side of progress, but as my favorite author Andrew Peterson always says, “it’s always darkest before the dawn.”

Anxiety

I fill these hands to empty my mind.
Weave. Write. Work. Make. Do.
Make do.

But I can’t ignore that I’m waning with each new breath.
How long until I suffocate here on dry land?
How long until my lung refuse to fill?
No, don’t think about that.
Weave.Write. Work. Make. Do.
Make do.

Through the windows, the darkness enters
and I can’t find a match.
I tell myself to keep trying.
I will my hands to move,
to fumble through pattens weaved in this chaos.
trying to make these knots curve right.
My fists wrap tighter and tighter ’round these rods of iron
but I keep finding holes in my work.

War drums beat within my chest,
and I know the enemy is nearing.
It’s inside my own flesh.
I cover my eyes to shield the darkness,
but we all know that’s not how darkness works.
It follows you into your hiding,
so you must learn to fight your way into the light.

So, I uncurl myself from this cocoon
stepping out to take hold of the ancient book
And as my hands grasp hold of it’s pages,
my heart begins to cling to the Word I find within.
My eyes scanning black lines to search for you,
just trying to imagine you there in living color.
I am willing you to come out of these pages-
willing these words to form your very flesh

Like the match that I was missing
You strike yourself against my sole.
Light penetrates my darkness, illuminating your form
I see you.
And this ever growing flame is soaking up the oxygen
but somehow I’m finding it easier to breathe.

Spoken Word

Psalm of Lament

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

Have you ever felt like the Lord gave you a dream, or a passion to do something, and you’re all in.

“Yes Father. Let’s do this. I’m ready. Pick me.”

You can see the finish line, “the promised land” if you will, and you know you can make it there. And then everything goes wrong, and you feel as if you’ve been teleported to a place 576 miles from where you were before, and it’s 576 miles in the wrong direction. When the Israelites sent spies into the Promised Land, it must have felt so close. They were finally ready to cash in on the Lord’s promise after all this time. But then the spies came back and they were afraid of the people groups already in the Land. And they feared these men more than they trusted the Lord who had brought them out of Egypt. Just like that, the Promise was taken from them, and they wandered in the wasteland for forty more year. That’s how I feel sometimes, you know? I begin to doubt what I know to be true about The Lord and who He is. And so I come before Him and boldly ask, “What are you doing here, Father?”

A Psalm of Lament 

You gave me visions of honey;
By your hand have I tasted the sweetness of freedom.
I danced for joy and sang your praises
sweet praises to Yahweh for his faithful love.

We walked across this empty space together
this place of eager expectation;
And you showed me all that you had promised.
Yes,on the other bank laid all that I had longed for.
Across the river you pointed out of the wealth
of this land flowing with milk and honey.
My hand grasped at all that I saw;
my mouth watered for what would soon be mine.

But then we turned to wander in the wasteland,
and You led me away from what my soul desired.
Why, oh Lord, do you torment me so?
Why, faithful Yahweh, do you taunt me?
Did you bring me out to the desert to die?
Will I wander here for the rest of my life?
Is 40 years my punishment?
Was this in your plan all along?
Was what I saw only a mirage?
Or will I ever taste of what I have seen?

{pause and remember}

Still, I have followed you across this desert,
and I will follow you through it once again.
You, oh Lord, are my guiding light;
Without you I know not which foot to step with next.
And should I wander in this waiting land with you forever,
It will be enough.
You, oh Lord, are far more glorious;
You are worth more to me than all riches and pleasures.
This waste land has become an oasis in your presence;
And out of rocks, you have brought fresh water.
You have provided the manna.
You have provided with your presence.
And You are enough.

Spoken Word

An Abandoned Coffee Mug

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

Empty Mug

Preface: This poem was written as an inside joke between a friend and I. I have not been broken up with, nor am I channeling any lingering emotions towards any men I’ve dated. This poem took less than 45 minutes to write, and I was giggling the entire time. With all that said, enjoy what I have sense dubbed “the most depressing thing I’ve ever written”

An Abandoned Coffee Mug for Ashley Boggs

You came in strutting with confidence
and immediately asked for me.
You told the people standing by that I was the best in town,
your favorite.
And so I gave myself to you.
I was yours and you were mine.
I could taste the sweetness of the moment,
just you and I in this coffee shop.
The lights dim with the morning dawn,
but sunlight gently knocked at the windows.
There we sat and drank in the beauty.
I was your drug,
awakening your senses to life-
the life we’d take on together.
You savored each bit you took from me
as you slowly sipped the life out of me.
But I delighted that you wanted me,
so I sat silently, just grateful for your time.
I grew colder as the morning passed.
and affection weaned from your eyes with each new sip.
I tried to make myself new again-
to warm myself with the sun.
But heat eluded me.
Almost empty, you looked at me,
swirling me around in your hand
deciding if I was worth your time
Was I worth the last few drops?
Your lips touched me and you snarled.
as you found me bitter and ice cold.
So you began to pack your bags.
When you stood up, my whole being rattled.
I thought I might just fall off and shatter on the floor.
I hoped I would.
I watched you leave, too lifeless to follow
too empty to run after you.
My aroma was gone, and I had nothing left to call you back.
Could you not have drained me dry?
at least then people would know that I once tasted sweet.
Instead you left me here at this table with an ounce of life left in me
as if to say that I didn’t live up to your hype.
as if to say that I wasn’t worth taking with you.
And so I remain here at this table and watch another couple walk up
“Do you think someone is sitting here? She asks him.
“No,” he replies, “they’re long gone.”
And to save me from my shame, he picks me up
and deposits me in the trash.

Spoken Word

Psalm of Praise

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

     Occasionally on the blog, I’ll post a throwback and recycle some things I have written in the past. I have a short story that’s in the final editing process that is brand-stinkin-new. But since it’s not ready to share with the world yet, I wanted to share this work instead. It serves as the inspiration for a song that I’m going to collaborate on with a friend next week (she has the most amazing voice ever, so I’m so excited to work with her!) 

      This piece is a Psalm of Praise that I wrote for a seminary class this past spring.  It stands as one of the most influential classes I have ever taken. It is the class that got me to start writing again and reminded me that it’s never actually about us or what we create, but instead about the God to whom we give glory. 

Without further delay:

I will sing joyously for You, my God, are constant;
truly I love You because you are near.
Your hand will sustain me as long as I live,
from the deepest valleys You will lift me up.
Though I grow weary, You do not;
Surely You will watch over me and protect me all of my days.
I can breathe, for I know You have ordained this day,
before I awoke, You knew what lay before me.
Surely blessings and goodness await me
for You are loyal and kind to your children.
and You delight in their presence.

Be not far from me, O mighty King.
for though I am simple in mind,
my hope is ever with You.
If You are not with me, I will surely faint,
but if You will go with me, I will conquer armies by Your hand
and Your name shall go forth from this place.
Yes Lord, though the enemy is encamped nearby
I will raise a battle cry of joy.
To the mountains and through deep valleys, it shall be heard
calling those who fear You to come forth.

Together we shall stand before the camp and sing,
“Holy and True is our King.
His faithful love will never leave us.
His strong hand will be our help this day and all the days to come.
Take courage, for he is not a King who remains in His palace.
This very day, He will ride before us into battle;
All who stand against us, fear His name.
for He will not let his children be put to shame.”