Slaves to Self-Reliance: A poem about striving and strength

Prophetic Poetry Series: Poem #2

Hello lovelies,

Another Monday has come and with it another poem. This is forming part of a prophetic poetry series, that I am doing. Last week was all about ripening in our own time according to God’s perfect plan. This week’s message is focused on self-reliance and doing it all in our own strength. Something that so many of us wrestle with.

Photo by Iliya Safari on Unsplash

God gave me a picture of a scarecrow at sunset covered in rags, as the darkness closed in on him. It was a suffocating image and I did not know what to make of it at first, but I quickly found myself being led to the book of Jeremiah. There it reads:

‘Like a scarecrow in a cucumber field, their idols cannot speak; they must be carried because they cannot walk. Do not fear them; they can do no harm nor can they do any good.’ - Jeremiah 10:5

You might be thinking what does that mean? I was unsure myself at first, until I sat with it and slowly began to understand the concept of idols.

Idols can be anything that we find ourselves fixating on and they can come in many forms: love of money, success or the need to feel accomplished, relationships; fitness, alcohol, even self-reliance.

The scarecrow in scripture is the idol, which produces nothing of value or of nourishment. It is simply standing there, a symbol of self-reliance that makes us immobile, a slave to doing life in our own strength.

There is hope, for the God of mercy is able to do abundantly more than we may think. Let’s swap the scarecrow and co-cultivate that sacred inner sanctuary that lies within. A space we can breathe and start to begin.

A scarecrow in the wind,

rags of crimson cutting into the sky as it closes,

a remnant of the rebel that rises

the ravens ravaging the rot 

the falsehoods that fed us

we foraged for fear of being left behind 

lining our stomachs with lies, 

lies that lulled us into longing

we no longer wanted to languish in doubt, 

self-reliance held the crown the we carried 

to drown out destiny’s drought.

Trusting in the temporal 

what we saw with our earthly eyes. 

Our purpose became our prize

our status became our security

our legacy, the light we were slaves to 

that we kept burning. 

The beating pulse of purpose kept us alive?

but scrimping in solitude, suffering and searching 

surely those would be our demise? 

we felled the forest of the forgotten 

the fire left fissures that we fell back into,

for we could never truly forget 

how fragile our fears can be 

and though we try to be the scarecrow that frightens fear away,

like crows they return and land on us like prey. 

Our strength suffers when we stand alone

exposed to the elements, empty and hollow 

scattered like stones.

But when we loosen our grip on the day,

even when darkness descends

 we know the farmer is with us.

As we walk with Him 

we unravel, peace offerings to the wind,

our longing was a labyrinth that we lost our thread within,

but the God of mercy found us and fed us 

fortifying us with His strength, so we may truly begin.

Not as slaves, but as assistant architects

developing the land that lies uncultivated within.

With Love & Prayers

Georgie