We cannot look with grace, just with complaint.
We think that “You are all and I am not.”
Repent, repent, o image bearers and saints.
Harsh eyes dissect and parse our bo-
dies, break them down, then try to re-
assemble them, resemble some
ideal, something that isn’t real.
We cannot look with grace, just with complaint.
Never the same, never enough.
How, how do I repent, when I
am the one who has been wronged? It seems
like it should be easier for them to repent
of unfaithfully looking than it is for me
to repent of unbelief because
I have been unfaithfully looked at.
We think that “You are all and I am not.”
Never the same, never enough.
I’ve been framed
by what the world deems beautiful,
the gaze of others continually penetrating my veneer.
I’m stuck in a cage,
created by false-hearted eyes,
violated, again and again,
by something I don’t want to believe.
Repent, repent, o image bearers and saints.
Never the same, never enough.
Primary Colors
By Ellie Brown
The night before, it snowed another foot
and all of us were eager to go sled.
My dad had found a new way to go down
our hill, and sailed past, whooping as he went.
I made my mind up, I would try it too.
The ride filled me with joy and pride, for I
was fearless. And then I hit our property line.
A wire fence, with barbs that had been hiding.
My lip split, moment of impact seared in my mind.
I hung, trapped. My boots were yellow, my coat, soft blue,
scarlet, my blood against the blinding snow.
My dad, he raced to me in a panic, unhooked
me, carried me to the car. We drove fast, reached
the hospital in record time. The shot,
the pain, before the numbing is the worst
I’ve ever felt. Four stitches, now a scar
where I was caught by the barb, the shape of a fishhook.
They say it was my scarf that saved my life.