A few months ago, my creative boss asked me and a few other employees to spend twenty minutes or less writing a poem about why we do what we do.
I groaned.
What working girl has time to write poetry when her inbox is spilling over with emails and deadlines? Besides, my last attempt at poetry wasn’t pretty (although it was memorable!):
A man was in a mine
He tripped on a vine
He really quick got up
And tried to find his cup....
But my boss said it didn’t have to be perfect, so I just wrote from my heart.
And when I finished, I was surprised and grateful for the exercise. Because most days the deadening dailyness of details clouds my vision and I forget.
But yes, that’s right! This is why I do what I do:
Most days I drag myself out of bed
grab an apple on the run
lower my shoulder to the Mac
and grit my way through email
and space dot space dot space dot ellipsis
their faces gray and unformed and far away.
But on occasional days
I see them
Ann locked up in bitter prisons of the heart
Jenny searching desperately for soul rest
Aisha wrapped in hijab, eyes blinded, serving a dead god
their faces soft and flushed and hungry.
And I wonder at this high calling
serving the WORD with each word
that, if Spirit-drenched, can point to Him
whose face is bloodied and tear streaked and warm
carrying all their sins and griefs and sorrows
if only they will let Him.
Why do you do what you do? Think about it. You’ll be glad you did!
