Counterparts

©1984 by Susan Noyes Anderson

Great Grandma walked across the plains,
her blue dress grey with travel stains.
She bore the hardship, for she knew
her faith in the Lord would see her through.
Her once pink hands were calloused now,
and she had said good-bye somehow
to husband dear and children lost,
praying the end would be worth the cost.

I walk the darkened city street,
my hurried footsteps keeping beat
with a trembling heart, but I swallow my fear,
reminding myself that the Lord is near.
I wear my travel stains deep inside,
where I battle iniquity’s rising tide,
praying husband and children will not be lost;
and that the end will be worth the cost.

We all must walk these earthly miles;
different times bring different trials.

The post Counterparts: Our Pioneer Heritage (Poetry) appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

For example, in this video, an LDS young woman from South Africa shares a poem she wrote entitled “Significant in Every Way.” As described on YouTube, the poem “celebrates the divine nature of young women as daughters of God and encourages them to be examples to others.”

The post Mormon Messages for Youth: “Significant in Every Way” appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

This is a very personal poem written in tribute to my parents and my heritage. It was given as an exercise in personal discovery and gratitude to those who came before me. It might help the reader to know that at the age of three I had polio and spent several years in a hospital dealing with the aftermath. My father was artistic and was a gifted potter. My mother was a loyal wife and mother, not unlike women of her era who had very little choices in the direction their lives would take. Sacrifice was automatic for them as they raised their children and supported their husbands.

I am the daughter of
soil tillers, stone masons, educators,
tale spinners, musicians, shepherds,
fishermen, potters, dreamers, visionaries.

I have seen my father
mold a lump of clay into an object of beauty,
just as he taught his sons to fish
and his daughters to dream.

I have witnessed my father
as he rescued a lost soul from the street,
fed him, clothed him, and gave him back his spirit.

I watched as my father
buried his son, fought for the life of his wife,
sacrificed his dream for the welfare of his obligations.

I remember my mother
laboring over the wringer
with squares of hot, wet, wool,
wrapping her child’s limbs,
that she might walk again.

I was there when my mother
entered the depths of grief at her loss,
and rose to welcome another not of her womb.

I have marveled as my mother
stood loyally at her her husband’s side,
as he dreamed his dreams
then follow him faithfully, not unlike Sariah.

For them life was a struggle,
nothing was easy. Their love for each other
and their children gave them life’s satisfaction.
They lived simply, but fully, and I am rich
for the legacy that is mine.

The post Poetry: Struggle of Life appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

Clancy shares this poem, with this introduction: There are times in life where I’ve felt like I’m floundering… bobbing along with no direction and accomplishing very little. It was during one of those times, a January in my life, that I realized, as I walked past my flower garden wherein lay the frozen roots of perennial flowers and shrubs, that something happens to those roots in those cold, dark times that cycle through every year. I don’t understand the physics or biological processes that occur, but the results, when the weather warms, is the beautiful conclusion of that process that I don’t fully understand. From that life-metaphor came this poem which helped me have the faith to get through my own dark, cold cycle in life.

Green and lush, with fragrance sweet
And variegated colors,
The flower thrives on warm summer days
With sun and soil and water.

As days grow short and seasons change,
The blossom dies, the color fades,
Withdrawing into its stable roots
Vitality that held the bloom.

Clouds roll in, and snows descend,
Covering life with a blanket.
Sounds are hushed. Life is still,
But growth goes on beneath it.

What growth occurs, the eye can’t see,
The blanket quietly hides,
While covered up with frost and earth
The root grows strong inside.

Gently loosening it’s hold,
The frost begets the waters’ flow.
Days grow longer. Life awakes.
The dormant root, its quiet breaks.

Shoots reach up with perfect faith,
The cold a forgotten friend,
Through the earth ’til surface breaks
Where life begins again.

Harsh, though, that blanket seems
Of cold and snow and frozen earth,
Life demands those quiet times
Where after comes rebirth.

——-

For more Sharing Our Voices content, including poetry, see here.

The post Poetry: Dormant appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

This poem was written for a sister who relived my pain and guilt when she forgave me of something that happened so long ago, she’d actually forgotten the incident. I on the other hand, clung to the guilt until I confessed to her and was absolved.

I wallowed, all too long,
In depths of sorrow,
For deeds of the past
Unforgotten.

A seed of grief,
Buried in a pit of guilt,
Sprouting anguish,
Nourishing itself.

Reaching up from
My grave of fear,
Heaven touched me,
You said, “I forgive.”

Like a forest bathed in new snow,
Washed in pristine white,
Baptized in the light of love,
I am forgiven.

The post Poetry: Forgiven appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

The Missionary Spirit was written for my daughter Joann’s birthday when she was on her mission in Argentina…. She had one birthday while serving in Argentina, and I wanted to send her something special that didn’t cost a small fortune. I thought of her and how badly she wanted to serve, the sacrifice on the part of the whole family, and the blessings we all received for her service.

The Missionary Spirit

The glow of missionary spirit
Is welling in your eyes.
Love for the children of the Lord,
Yet, unknown, waiting for His message.

A droplet slips across a cheek
Blushed with joy.
The message is delivered,
Reaping gratitude in return for salvation.

Cherish the moment,
Don’t dab it away,
Relish the days,
Hold fast to the spirit.

Return in triumph, knowing
Christ is love, love is charity,
Charity is service,
Service is you.

– by Dianne Billstrom

*This is Dianne Billstrom’s third poem she has shared with us. We are thankful to her for her willingness to share! If you would like to submit your own poetry, please send it to us via email: ‘mormonwomen’ (or ‘mormonwoman’) at ‘gmail’ dot ‘com’.
——
For more Poetry, please click here.

The post Missionary Mondays: Poetry –The Missionary Spirit appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

This poem was written as an exercise in self-examination — What am I? The first part is a description of what I think I am. The second part is a description of the things I have accomplished that were surprising to me. The Third question is what has amazed me about myself. The last stanza is a declaration of who I really am.

What Am I?

What am I?
daughter,
sister,
mother,
wife,
teacher,
nurse.

Am I what?
chef,
seamstress,
poet,
pupil,
friend.

I am what?
grandmother,
widow,
dreamer,
survivor.

What I am,
child of God.

For more Poetry submissions, please click here.

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“We Announce the Martyrdom…” was inspired by Geoffrey Brock’s “Flesh of John Brown’s Flesh: Dec. 2, 1859”, written from John Brown Jr.’s point of view. I was interested Brock’s representation of this son’s complex feelings towards his father. In response to this poem, I composed my own; instead of exploring the Prophet’s children’s feelings surrounding his death, I decided to focus on Emma’s reaction.

On a personal note, I enjoyed researching the history of Joseph’s faith and sacrifice and Emma’s role as an influential, yet often overlooked founder of our faith. Lucy Mack Smith said of her: “I have never seen a woman in my life who would endure every species of fatigue and hardship, from month to month, and from year to year, with that unflinching courage, zeal and patience, which she has ever done.” Emma was a pregnant widow when Joseph was killed, staying on in Nauvoo to care for their children and the prophet’s feeble mother. Let us continue to remember her as her family did; she was truly an elect lady.

The poem follows.

“We Announce the Martyrdom of Joseph Smith the Prophet, and Hyrum Smith the Patriarch”: Carthage Jail, 27th June 1844

Men charged the stairs,
their faces black.
Did they hear Brother Taylor’s singing stop?

But Joseph knew
and like a lamb, he went
as independently, this work rolled on without him

through persecutions—
mobs, armies, calumny
and kin.

The Patriarch fell, then the Prophet:
(their blood still stains the floor)
never divided, never separated.

Their legacy of faith, we live
ingrained in us, the children of the covenant.
But what of you, Sister Emma?

To Joseph’s heart, yours—
once entwined
in Harmony—

Held fast through New York,
Ohio,
Missouri and Illinois.

Six tiny graves you left behind
while Zion’s monuments were built and razed,
consumed by the cause.

Crossing the frozen Mississippi
with his manuscript sewn into your skirt,
his children clung to you.

Your love lost,
your sickened soul lingered behind the flow of the faithful—
the Prophet’s widow, witnessing his people’s exodus—

What of your vision?
Your suffering and sacrifice?
How far need endless enduring go?

The post <i>Poetry Submission:</i> “We Announce the Martyrdom…” appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.