Teri Kojetin and her husband Doug served the Lord in Mexico as missionaries for many years. An avid reader of Christian literature, she is greatly interested in reading and writing Christian poetry.
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Copyright © 2001
M. S. Thirumalai
ABANDON AND OTHER POEMS
FULL FIELDS, EMPTY LIVES
This free verse is written from the point of view of an indigenous child from Mexico who has, with her family, been taken to the west coast of Mexico to work in the vegetable fields as migrant workers for 5 to 6 months. Doug & I worked with Gospel Recordings for 2-4 weeks each year for six years on a ministry outreach to bring the Gospel to these indigenous peoples for 6 year, called Project Culiacan. This verse is dedicated to these workers.
Fields of green, plants heavy with their fruit
grumbling, my stomach protests,
Adults and children, toiling in the hot sun,
The food picked, filling plastic buckets
instead of hungry mouths,
going to feed a world already full.
Who will satisfy me?
Past this abundance
we enter another world,
Metal buildings set on hard cement,
row after row of small, square rooms
filled with nothing,
Empty, like my heart.
Who will fill me?
Up before the sun,
Wearily trudging to fields or trucks,
Up and down endless rows,
Bending backs, aching arms,
Mothers with babies on their backs,
Fathers and children toil together.
Who will give me rest?
Back to our rooms, late afternoon,
Too tired, yet food must be prepared,
Clothes and bodies washed,
Now our buckets fill with water
as we struggle to make a home
Who will quench my thirst?
Six days, seventy-two hours,
week after weary week,
Metal walls in a borrowed room,
Dirt and mud and flies,
Smoke from cooking fires stings my eyes,
Nothing to do but work and sleep.
Who will give me life?
TRAPPED IN SIN
A story of mercy
She sits in the dirt, rejected, ashamed,
the focus of unwanted attention.
Trying to be brave, she fights back the tears,
shielding her emotions from the stones they would throw.
Once again they grab her arms, forcing her to stand,
dragging her along to wherever
they are in such a hurry to get to.
She hangs her head, letting her hair cover her face,
hoping that the staring eyes of those they pass
do not see who she is.
Glancing up, she is horrified to see
the entrance to the temple court. Why bring her here?
Would they shed her blood in this holy place?
A crowd parts before her, as pushed and pulled,
she is made to stand before a Man.
She knows who He is - the Healer, Teacher,
some even call Him, Messiah, the Savior.
He has been teaching, would she now become
an object lesson,
used to warn others of a sinner's fate?
The self-righteous leaders have no problem
broadcasting her sin for all to hear,
demanding that He likewise judge.
She glances at His face, expecting to see
condemnation, a cold heart reflected in His eyes.
He does not speak, but only looks into her face,
compassion meeting her guilt and shame.
The leaders, impatient, still demanding
He conform to their judgement.
And still He does not speak.
He bends to the earthen courtyard floor
letting His finger give answer to their charges,
writing in the dirt at their feet.
She stands there, watching Him, puzzled,
the leaders still question,
still demand He share their view.
But wait, she sees looks of puzzlement
and disbelief on their faces,
as her mind focus on His words,
her own faces mirrors theirs.
These righteous leaders of Israel,
their sinful state pointed out instead of hers.
Only if they are sinless themselves
can they condemn and pronounce judgement.
He demands they examen their own lives
before that of another.
Once again she sees him stoop to the ground.
What does He write?
Quietly her accusers turn and leave,
one by one, as they recognize
their own sin and need for mercy.
And now she stands alone,
and He straightens before her.
His love and mercy reach out to envelop her.
The Son of God extends forgiveness,
"You are not condemned, leave your sin behind."
She walks away in the new-found grace of God,
By His mercy, set free.
(Based on John 8:2-11)
I didn't know what I was asking.
If I had, would I have opened myself
to the searching hand of God?
Would I have let Him bring to light
things hidden deep inside?
My heart lies open...why can't the pain be numbed?
Searching the very recesses of my being
with His Word, by His Spirit;
holding up the mirror of my heart
for me to see.
Oh God! The pain is so much to bear!
You show me the ugliness of my soul.
The door I have closed tight
You have cracked open, and I weep.
Shame and despair envelope me.
Can this be true?
Is this myself I see?
How Your light hurts my eyes!
I would turn away, close once more
the dark, sin-touched areas of my heart.
Yet, through the stabbing pain I sense
You are waiting for me on the other side.
You stretch your hand through
my sin and pain,
to touch me, to take my hand.
I cling to You. Only You can pull me up,
up through the stench of my pride,
up through my very self.
Broken by Your love. I mourn.
Shattered by the reality of my sin. You heal.
I rise, crippled, yet whole as I
abandon myself to
the safety of Your love.
ENEMY OCCUPATION | THE OPENNESS OF GOD AND CREATIVE WRITING | LUTHER'S PROTEST | ABANDON AND OTHER POEMS | WHO'S IN CONTROL, YOU OR CHRIST? | THE SPIRIT OF JANETTE OKE'S NOVELS | MONTE CRISTO AND SALVATION FROM END TO BEGINNING | HOME PAGE | CONTACT EDITOR
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