Into A Body | A Poetic Reflection

Words spoken. Written. Invested.

Into a body.

Not to give it life.

But instead, holding grief in lifeless stasis.

A tool for others ideas.

God can use any circumstance for good.

But, we decided God doesn’t know better than us.

God says our

weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

But we decided to extend weeping to force the joy we want for someone else.

God knows

testing our faith produces perseverance.

But we decided whose struggles matter more to us,
controlling the narrative
rather than loving them through the struggles they face.

A tool for others ideas? No.

God’s beloved child is God’s beloved child.

Yet, loved ones have been forced into the bondage of extended suffering,
disempowered from practicing the love-filled rituals of grief and loss of this child. 

Family. Left choice-less.

Waiting for a new baby.
Yet a circumstance nothing like the Christmas gift of our collective imagination.

A stasis now lifted, tainting the gift of new life because of human expectations and

words spoken, written, and invested.

Into a body.

Not to give life.

But instead to hold up ideals and force God’s hand.

God can and will bring joy in the morning,
build us up out of the pain,
and show us, in God’s way,
what our part in this, after this, because of this must be. 

May our living, suffering, and dying find comfort in God’s hands.

Even as human hands operate in confusion, confidence, and fear,
ultimately embracing the impossible task to overpower divine ways,
it is in fact impossible.

By faith, we trust in a love-shaped narrative,
our God with a heart for us all,
knowing us by name,
even in the womb,
allowing us unimaginable choices
while knowing we will get it wrong sometimes. 

Very very wrong sometimes.

I believe this is one of those times.

Yet, I can only imagine how God will do what God does best
in spite of and even through us and our brokenness.
Our shortsightedness.

God’s people, even though law-makers did not know her name, we do now.
So, speak it.

“Adriana Smith.”

We know his name too.

“Chance,” a baby whose future is unwritten.

Whether by our definition of a full life or not,
God’s love never fails.
May he live in God’s abundance
no matter what we choose to do next.

But next time, today, and every chance we get,
I hope we can do better and get it right.

Words spoken. Written. Invested.

Into the body.

To give life a chance rather than a demand.

To give the loved and beloved the choice embedded in God’s design.
So that even in death,
whether in womb or old age or any time in between,
it is deep abiding love that speaks, is written, and invested in our actions.

Author’s Note:
This poem was inspired by a recent article and intended to offer commentary while reminding us of the healing power of lament for faith-based communities. While the piece stands on its own, the themes of grief and hope were shaped by that intention.
📖 >> News Article: https://www.11alive.com/article/news/health/adriana-smith-baby-born-life-support-update-brain-dead-nicu/85-1fb6595c-3966-4a50-993d-0e36e05cb256#
🗞️>> Social Media Post: https://www.facebook.com/share/p/15S54rJiac/?mibextid=wwXIfr

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