Exhale
Abstract hands reached knuckle-
deep into clay, shifting and
molding until it took shape.
Limbs formed from shell, but the
earth knew no pain. Only creation.
Once assembled, You set him back
onto the earth from whence he came.
Separate now. Set apart.
Deep within your Divine Lung, You
inhaled, drawing essence from
Your heavenly home. Then, You brought
Your mouth to his. Spirit created spirit and
as You exhaled into dust,
life began.
Human hands spread arms-
width across wood, straining and
pulling until He broke.
Limbs tore from shell, and the
earth knew new pain. All of creation.
Once pierced, You withdrew Yourself
from the earth You created.
Separate now. Set apart.
Deep within His fallen body, He
inhaled, drawing depravity from
His earthly home. Then, You turned
Your face from His. Spirit substituted for spirit and
as He exhaled his last,
life began.
When You’re Waiting on a Diagnosis
things look different. Feel different.
You’re the same, but you question every little thing.
Is my breathing off? Is my vision cloudy?
You’re fragile.
When you’re waiting on a diagnosis,
you try to keep Google closed.
You avoid the MRI report in your inbox.
As if not clicking it would matter.
As if you don’t see the “abnormal” terms every
time you close your eyes.
When you’re waiting on a diagnosis,
you go worst case. You double-check your Will.
You wish that you would savor every moment,
but the kids still drive you mad. He still chews
too loudly. You still need to decide on dinner.
You’re the same.
When you’re waiting on a diagnosis,
you want to think best case. You want to lay it
at God’s feet and walk away. You want to
“name it and claim it,” bathe in Holy Water, buy
into that mustard seed. You want to
tell that mountain to move and cry
“Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!”
You want to proclaim that even if you’re Job,
your faith is unshakeable. Even if He doesn’t heal
you, even if it’s worst case, even if this is the beginning
of the end, He gets the glory.
But when you’re waiting on a diagnosis,
you’re really just scared. You have nothing
to offer. You try to smile. Sometimes, for a moment,
you forget. Until you don’t.
You try to accept your fate, but wait
in the shadows. Like the woman
in the crowd, you pray he passes
close enough for you to touch his hem.
Pray that he heals you somehow without even looking.
Pray that desperate faith is enough
when you’re waiting on a diagnosis.
Kaitlyn Newbery is an adjunct English professor at University of the Cumberlands. She enjoys exploring questions about her faith through metaphors and storytelling. Her works have recently been published by Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, Sunlight Press, Neologism Poetry, Thimble Magazine and ONE Art.