Pride and Poetry

I used to write music. Not professionally, but when I was much, much younger I wrote poetry and lyrics and tunes all the time. Most of them didn't get written down. I don't think anybody would care to hear the hour-long (yes, hour-long, nonstop) ballad I sang to my baby goats while we were stuck in the goat house waiting for the mama goats to be done fighting so I could leave the pen. I actually think it was a good song, but I was maybe 8 at the time so...

Then there were the piano tunes. One about a cuckoo bird and another about jitters (don't ask me why), and another one about getting older. I might have written the cuckoo song down. I know I wrote Jitters down. Somewhere. It's probably best to leave them there.

I didn't think much about my songwriting until I was almost a teenager. I lived a solitary life (I never managed to have a best childhood friend, and was rarely invited to parties) and either figured everybody wrote music, or just enjoyed playing around with music and words. It wasn't until I wrote (and wrote down) my first full-length, actually good poem when I was 12 that I seriously started thinking about songwriting and poetry.

I wrote that poem for a girl in my neighborhood who was struggling with self-worth issues and not feeling pretty enough or talented enough. I've never really had issues believing my own self-worth so when I heard her (practically in tears) explaining her doubt and fear about herself (and trust me, she was beautiful and skilled in so many things), the words to this poem, a response to her doubt, almost tripped over themselves to get into my mind and out on paper. I couldn't write fast enough. It was a really unique experience that I wanted to repeat. All those years of wordplay, mindless singing, and musical storytelling finally had a purpose.

Two weeks later I had an opportunity to share the poem I'd written with the girls in my neighborhood and let me just say, it was a smashing success. Well-received, highly-praised, bringing a tear to the eyes of the leaders, and a hug from my dad.

So I wrote another poem and a song, and another song, and another few poems. I didn't share most of them but I kept writing, responding to the things going on in my life until a few years later, I had another song ready to share. I sang it at a girls camp testimony meeting when I was 13 or 14. I thought it was perfect because the theme of the camp had been Anchored in Christ and my song was about lighthouses and Christ. Once again, the song was kindly received, but afterward I heard a few comments about how I always seemed to need to show off. Not just my music or poetry, but my talent with sewing, my ability to swallow a handful of vitamins at a time, my knowledge about the bible, etc. 

I don't think there's anything anyone could have said back then that would have wounded me more. Show-off and Esther were two things that were completely unrelated in my mind. But as soon as I realized that people thought I was a show-off--that I might be a show-off--I couldn't stop thinking about it. I'd always been a confident child. Unafraid to stand up in front of a room of teenagers and play 10 minute, improvised songs on the violin at age 5. Unafraid to speak in front of crowds, meet strangers, befriend anybody. Unafraid to be 100% myself 100% of the time. I was an innocent, bold girl who had talents and wasn't afraid to use them. 

But I wasn't a show-off, was I? I wasn't writing songs just for attention, right? I wasn't that prideful...right? 

Or was I? Maybe I didn't fit in because I was always showing off. Maybe people didn't want to be my friend because I was too prideful. Maybe people didn't like being around me because they felt intimidated by my talents or felt like I was judging them or looking down on them.

I got home from camp and buried that song, that reminder that I might be too proud, in a journal under a pile of books. Every once in a while I'd pull it out and reread it sadly. I'd re-appreciate the beautiful words and tune but remind myself that I'd written it for attention and then bury it again. Eventually I threw it away. Unable to stand the constant reminder of my own pride. I stopped writing songs and I rarely wrote poetry. When I did, I hardly ever showed it to anyone. 

Perhaps more tragic, I lost my confidence. Gone was the girl who could sing for hours just for fun. Gone was the girl who raised her hand in class. Gone was the girl lived for the sake of living. Gone was the girl who laughed freely, loved openly, and embraced the whole world. In her place was a quiet, reserved, constantly self-criticizing girl who worried more about what others thought of her than about being herself. 

It's been 10 years since I first wrote that poem that started it all. 10 years since I wrote a message about confidence, true beauty, and love. It's been 9 years since I stopped believing my own message. This would be a very sad story. No, it is a sad story. Luckily it has a happily ever after.

It's been 9 years of work. 9 years of effort. 9 years of burying parts of myself, my creativity, my past. But slowly, oh so slowly, I've found that confidence again. The confidence to wear crazy clothing combinations, the confidence to sing in public, the confidence to answer questions. The confidence to live without apology. The confidence to be bold and brave and show the world how good and beautiful and joyous it is to be a cuckoo, confident, daughter of God. 

In celebration, I will be sharing the poems and songs I wrote so long ago. The next few weeks will include every poem or song I thought worthy of protecting (except the lighthouse song) along with an explanation of what inspired it. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I've enjoyed rereading and rediscovering myself. 

A Daughter of God - July 2012

Her face was far from perfect,

"Imperfections" everywhere; 

But there was something in it,

Something she seemed to share.

 

You'd never call her pretty-

When comparing with the world.

But there was something shining,

 A glory that she held.

 

There were giggles on her lips,

Soft words upon her tongue,

Ears opened up to listen,

Arms open to all who'd come.

 

There was a sheen around her face,

That settled on her hair.

For she was crowned with love on high,

And she was always fair.

 

But most of all, one change you'd see,

The look of all those wise,

A joy of understanding

Was held behind her eyes.

 

They sparkled and reflected

All the things you cannot see,

So when I looked into her eyes,

She seemed perfect to me.

 

And if you asked me who she was,

I'd say a teenage girl.

Like you and me, embraced by love,

With our true selves revealed.

 

And though this poem's not perfect,

Imperfections everywhere,

Young Women, it is meant for you,

For you are all like her. 

 

Of course, the million dollar question is, "Were you actually a show-off, Esther?" The answer? Probably. Not intentionally by any means, but like any kid, I wanted to be complimented and praised and noticed. However, as I think back, I realize that the thing that drove me to write poetry was my desire to lift others, bring them joy, help them see the divinity in themselves that I could easily see in them. I wanted to change the world with words and music and the messages of God. Maybe that was too lofty a goal for a 12-year-old. Maybe I was just 10 years too early.