When my line of sight
The enormity of the world’s problems,
I feel small and insignificant—
Like even a smile
Or a compliment
Aren’t worth my time,
And then I lose hope—
But I recognise that
What I focus on
Provokes a myriad of emotional responses,
Thoughts and intentions
And I internalise,
Before I close my eyes
And fall asleep.
When morning’s light
Floods my sight,
I find that I have recalibrated overnight,
And moved far away from those emotions,
Those feelings of "smallness"
Away from those giants that have caused division, fear,
Death, orphanhood and chaos;
Those giants that have attempted to be the focus of my day—
Those giants of media, politics, and culture
And their misdirected views.
And even though the headlines spout:
“You are insignificant;
Your freedoms don’t matter—
Give up now!
Be sad, and
Surrender to our powers of suggestion,”
I do not bow.
I do not concede.
I know that I am significant
To the One who knit me together
In my mother’s womb.
I am loved by Him so much so,
That He snatched me from the grave
Of sin and death
Before paying them a visit Himself to
Bury them forever—
And bury them He did!
The truth is that
I only feel small when
Fixed on me
Instead of Jesus.
I dwell in the Kingdom of a big God
Whose ways are higher than my ways,
Whose thoughts are wider than my thoughts,
And Whose blood redeemed the world
From before time
Whose hands parted the Red Sea,
Whose breath raised an army of dry bones,
And whose Love invited all of creation
To know the way,
And the life.
My own littleness,
Instabilities and fragilities,
Begin and end with my acceptance of suggestion
About which Kingdom is more real—
His, or mine, or both?
“Did God really say?” is meant to unsettle,
And to divide me from having a secure connection
With my King.
Just like at the Tree in the Garden of Eden,
My feelings of littleness
Usually begin with a question
And end in orphanhood:
“Who am I really, and whose am I really?”
On the other hand,
My secureness begins with
The moment my line of sight
Is fixed on Him,
And it ends with me understanding
“Who I am and Whose I am.”
It ends with me slipping my hand into my Father’s,
Knowing that I am His child,
And that even though I am little and the world is big,
My Father is much, much, bigger,
For my hope
Lives on inside the One
Who holds the entire universe
In His hands.
Photo by Ben White on Unsplash