I have searched almost
Everywhere I have ever
Been, for a key
Who could unlock who
I am and understand.
People have shed light,
But no one entirely, clearly,
Reflects the heart, whole
Of me as beautifully
As the ink stains on paper
I have placed with joy,
Sometimes I write with
No real understanding of
Who I may at the moment be,
But later find myself captured
Poetry is right in ways
I cannot quite define,
As if life might find
Its measure in a telling
Line or through an accidental
Rhyme found like a crumb
On a velvet sleeve
At some point but unnoticed.
We are the poetry of Creation
Written into brief existence
By God, Lord of Eternity,
Must rejoice when we create,
As does He consistently.
I know He knows my totality
And pray for His guidance
As my soul composes love.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

As a prompt, create something that relates your relationship to or experience of poetry.

2020.08.11 Sea Birds rr



Wookie and I were playing. I threw her toy, and it hit the rice bowl I made in maybe kindergarten, maybe first or second grade. I knew it was terrible; then I heard the china hit the ceramic. The delicate china at that velocity under gravity’s influence stood no chance. It shattered, as you can see.

Sometimes we are like delicate china, safe enough until a tempest of trials and troubles hits us out of the blue. Maybe it is the winds of change in our finances or our health—the loss of something or someone we hold dear. We break, and we feel we are permanently damaged, but we are fortunately more resilient than china.

Somehow with God’s help and the passage of time, we recuperate and usually become more durable than before. We learn from the problems. We have so many reserves of strength and such power to overcome adversity.

I am not sure what to do with my broken keepsake, but God knows by sending us through the fire that he refines us and fuses our brokenness into greater faith and reliance on Him.

I did not have a post for tonight. I had been away from home today, spending time with one of my most favorite people—nothing like broken memories to set me straight.

© Jo Ann J.A. Jordan.

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As a prompt, create something influenced by brokenness or healing. You may conduct your work in any media that suits you.

May Christ guard and keep you and yours now and always.

The Cross

Sometimes even writers are inarticulate; when overcome by awe, grief, excitement, words can fail us. Such circumstance is not the best to beset a wordsmith, for merely by the name, expert use of words is proclaimed.

I struggle with discovering a way to explain Faith, Love, the meaning Jesus has to me.

The reason why I wear a Cross:

Some people criticize the Cross as a symbol of Christianity, but the cross I wear stands for the sacrifice Christ made when he bled and died that sinners could be clean of all iniquity. He multiplied a pardon from eternal separation and death’s penalty to all who in Him choose to believe. The Lamb of God, the Sinless One, gave His life upon a cruel Cross for our Salvation, Freedom, the Victory we share. Jesus rose, the Resurrected Life, He Lives, as can we if we follow Him.

Yes, the Cross is lowly, a cruel and perverted instrument of torture and death, but what matchless Love my Savior showed to place Himself upon that Cross hanging between Heaven and Earth, Eternity, and destruction. He through His Life, Death, and Resurrection became the Bridge humanity may cross to enter eternal life. So, the Cross; became sacred, anointed with His holy blood. The Atonement was provided; humanity has a gift so precious and priceless that even Heaven wept when it was brought. Upon accepting the gift of Salvation, believing in Jesus, we become part of God’s Family.

I wear a cross; there is meaning enough for me.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan