This featured photo is a picture of the framed original. On the left is my grandfather, Robert Hilton Beaty. On the right is his wife my grandmother Eara Davis Beaty. My grandfather died when Dad (Robert Hilton Beaty, Jr.) was about six weeks old in the womb of my grandmother. He was the sixth child. Grandma raised five of her six children during the Great Depression. She knew this sort of pain in my poetry of 2012 much better than I did back then although it is true I’ve had Christian pain in Christian places. Grandma was a Pentecostal. They do not ever get along with Baptists, and Grandpa’s family had Baptist pastors within it.
So on the civil war raged even as World Wars and Armageddon raged during this difficult time of all our lives in the early 1900’s. Grandpa died in a Texas street on October 21, 1933 (Revelation 11). Dad and I never met Grandpa, but we knew his love nonetheless because Grandma made sure to give it to Dad who then passed that lovely Christian heritage to my brother Patrick and me. Patrick died too–I was 14 and Dad was heartbroken with his son’s death and his brother’s death ten days before in September of 1980. We of the Beaty clan are well accustomed to death, but here is the truth: Jesus Christ has overcome the world.
My father died on February 3, 2016, just three hours before Curtis and I began our 27th wedding anniversary. Dad is gone now, so I suppose what I can say is this: I know death from life; life from death; and it is all glory to God and because of the Lamb of God who takes the sin of the world away. Thank You Jesus.
Author Perspective: these two poems are dark, lonely, and angry. And to me, these type seasons are every bit as necessary as the seasons of respite, joy, laughter, and lightness of spirit. Both types are seasons of the love of Christ. And the seasons expressed in these two poems have taught me how to draw close to the love of Jesus Christ in ways I didn’t even know possible previously.
As an American, I’m always chasing the “dream”. In 2012 I began to stop, look, listen, and write about it. Even if we don’t have a blog or are not an author, perhaps it is healthy to have a “something” to do that is purely ours; for contemplation, pondering, and understanding both ourselves and our neighbor.
It is my testimony I have been able to forgive people, come to grips with difficulty surrounding understanding God, and move forward (by this time in 2014) with less opposition from demonic intervention when I allowed myself to quite chasing the “Christian Dream”. But what was so sad at this point was that other Christians would not share reconciliation conversations with me, and that was confusing. I lost those friends. And so the pain increased. That pain was used in my life to refine me into prayer initiatives that began in 2013 and are written on this blog.
But the pain of my heart, as of Valentine’s Day 2014, has not gone away where American Christianity is concerned. And that in and of itself is a mystery; I love them still and I know they love me even with the ir-reconciliation that I live with which exists between us. It is sadly my observation that many American Christians do not know how to get to a place of unity according to Ephesians 5.
Sometimes I don’t want to be needed
The pain is too fresh to continue this way
Memories don’t fade very fast
Emotions spill out, and there is no stopping them
Sometimes I want to be angry
I lash out in my soul, looking to send it somewhere
But I won’t send it to my husband or to my children
So I send it to God for He placed me here
I know He takes it because He cares
Sometimes I want a different season
A different house
A different city
A different church and friends
Relief is what I have in mind
Sometimes I want to be my four year old
Content in all places
Not trying to understand
Just taking it one day at a time
Not the adult, the wife,
The parent, or the sister in Christ
Then I look up
Sometimes I see He Who Is Needed
Without Him, I couldn’t cry out
I would be destined to days upon days of Sometimes
With no respite
Sometimes is replaced in that moment
As He reminds me my pain worships Him
He is pleased I am His child
I take Sometimes to Him
Jesus loves me, but not sometimes
For every misunderstanding within Christian midst
There is reconciliation waiting, but missed
The Love of Jesus is bigger than all of the circumstances
But hard heart-ed stubbornness passes up the chances
Reconciliation is bliss
It is a holy kiss
Why can we not go to that place I ask
There is no answer, so I set myself to the task
Of leaving behind friends whom I love
Though we could have had more comfort from The Dove
Perhaps another day, another season awaits
When the Love of Christ will cleanse the slates
Until then, I will carry on as before
A sister in Christ, loving, and not keeping score