 "The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For in Him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible..." (Colossians 1:15-16a)
Like words behind a cover A scar beneath the heart A thought left unspoken A canvas underneath art Like the touch of wind A whisper no one heard The shadow of a storm A slow mournful dirge Like prizes behind a curtain Mountains concealed by mist The warmth of a smile A silent perfect kiss Like a puzzle left unsolved An answer left unknown The promise of forever Heart that makes a home The things we see Reveal things unseen Hidden from sight Vision remains dream Cloaked in flesh Covered in changing hues You have never seen me But I have seen you... Written by Anne Marie Hawke October 2019 To subscribe to my blog or to find out more about my writing, please visit my website at hawkewriter.com
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 "God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." (Psalm 18:24 MSG)
Have you ever been reading a book, trudging through it, not sure you want to finish because it's dark, depressing, scary and not that well written? Have you kept on reading hoping for some redemptive piece of inspired writing from the author; a line, a sentence? or at least a satisfying ending? Did you arrive at the end only to find that it was just thoroughly disappointing? I have. I love to read and nothing deflates me more than the knowledge that I finished an entire book in the hope that I could find some glimpse of something worthwhile, and coming up with nothing. It was just a bad book; crummy story; no plot; weak characters; no point. What if mid-story, a new author started writing? What if he took a weak, broken plot and all the detached details and he created a masterpiece, a work of literary art? This is what God did with the story of my life. The book of my heart was mangled; death and destruction everywhere, side characters who were stealing the show, a plot that was clearly a foregone conclusion, and those who opened my cover and began to read soon put my heart back on the shelf. I was the author of my own story. My rudimentary writing style, stubborn selfish determination, and poor choice of wording left me on the New York Times Worst Seller List. But then The Author showed up and gently asked for the pen. At first I thought I could polish up my story, I could make Him proud...He gently asked for the pen again. With tears in my eyes I handed it over, laid open the pages of my heart, and felt the gentle pressure of pen pressing against paper. The story changed, the book of my heart was written page by masterful page, some characters faded into the background, others stepped forward, fear and deep hurt were rewritten with peace and mercy, loss was covered over with love, change became the start of another adventure, and the ending promises to be epic... The Story Of My Life Once upon a time on a dark and stormy night... My story began with a cliche before it had even begun The words were written by someone else The text of my life unraveled in chaos; finished before I was done Edited with knife-like precision with the subtlety of stealth Dark figures, unseen hands, things that no one should know They tromped through the sentences of my unfinished work Seeking innocence, goodness, all the wonders of growth The ink on the page kept taking turns for the worst Page upon page I was ravaged; the words would not relent Words of violence and fear cut through every line Hacking my sentence structure like an English teacher hell-bent Deep into the plot of my story when it seemed all hope was lost Another writer took the pen and redemption made its mark Once upon a time on a dark and stormy night... My worn out beginning ignited into an intense spark The twists and turns the former author wrote Were made straight and found new lines And although the story isn't perfect The ending will be worthy; an epic of all time Often in a story it's not what you see or what you read It's not the chapter you are in or the ones that are to come It's not the main character or those with lesser roles It's the heart and intent of the author that makes a story home Who holds the pen to your story? Is it a dark, wretched fool? Is the story being written or is the story writing you? I now know the secret; the text is not my own The words, the book of my heart have been made new Now the darkness may surround me The storms may come crashing in But the beginning, middle, and ending They all belong to Him... Written by Anne Marie Hawke October 2019 To subscribe to my blog or for more information about my writing, please visit my website at hawkewriter.com |
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February 2022
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