"The Blemish"

Originally published February 2016.

I wrote this poem at a gathering of some close friends, where after some time of prayer, we each created a piece of art that we felt conveyed a message that the Holy Spirit was speaking to us. Then, we gave that piece of art to someone in the group, and spoke the message over them, and it was beautiful to see God work and speak through our creativity, whether it be through writing, painting, or drawing. The day before, I had read Rob Bell’s Drops Like Stars, and there was a part of the book where Rob was talking about how when weaving blankets, Native American tribes will purposely leave a corner of the blanket unfinished because they believe that the unfinished part is where the Spirit enters. The idea of the Spirit/God entering through the corner of the blanket that was left open and raw was so beautiful to me because I believe that God enters our hearts in the same way–not through our perfection but through our imperfection, through our flaws, through the broken and vulnerable parts of us left unfinished. I knew that this was the message that my art piece was supposed to portray, so I wrote a poem that spoke from that place.

I will leave further interpretation up to you. 

“The Blemish”

The Weaver sits in his chair,

and his hands begin

on a new creation.

A blanket for His tribe

that at first glance

looks like all the rest,

but upon close analysis

one can see

that it is nothing but genius.

Its patterns combine in a sea of colors,

crashing together with strength and grace,

a palette that brings light to the darkness,

the tender heart of a warrior it conveys.

The blanket comes alive

and looks upon its bones with pride

until its eyes reach the bottom corner

and what it finds there it tries to hide.

“Wait! You forgot to finish this part of me!”

the blanket cries out to the Weaver,

as it is filled with shame that

there is a part of it unfinished,

a corner unraveled,

bare and vulnerable and raw,

a chink in its armor

that tells of its imperfection

and hints at its ultimate flaw.

But as the blanket’s eyes

are blinded by tears

as it wallows in shame,

the Weaver calmly walks up,

handkerchief in hand

and begins to proclaim,

“Oh young and fragile one,

why do you lament and cry?

How do you know that I forgot?

Could not that be a lie?

What if I told you

that I placed that flaw there

with intentions divine?

That without some pain and failure and heartache,

the good in life you would not find?

My beloved child,

do not let your joy be hindered,

for it is through the blemish

that the Spirit enters.

It is through the blemish 

that the Spirit enters.” 

Cheers to the journey, and may your Spirit always reside in a state of wonder.