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Future is a Tempter

Future is a tempter enticing me to come
But I can never catch him however fast I run
He teases me and taunts me and tells me how much fun
It is to be with Future, but I can never come.

Past is a joker, choking back on time.
He beckons me to return to memories of mine
But when I go to visit them it seems I always find
Past is somehow hollow when it’s lived a second time.

Present stands here all alone and asks me to embrace him.
I look to Future and to Past because I cannot face him.

I wrote this poem when I was still single and felt like I was awkwardly suspended between college and marriage. I thought if God didn’t have marriage in store right away, then surely He had some wonderful adventure in ministry waiting for me. I dreamed of church-planting ventures where I would go and be a support by babysitting or starting a children’s ministry, or playing keyboards. I dreamed of going on e-teams to other countries and traveling the world. I did not dream of sitting in a classroom at Magnolia Middle School as a substitute teacher. I did not dream of working at Greenleaf Christian Bookstore. I did not dream of absolutely no guys on the horizon.

In order to spare you from lengthy posting, I will continue this saga on Thursday.

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2 thoughts on “Future is a Tempter

  1. Can’t wait to hear more! Your poem reminds me of a quote by Proust. I’ll have to dig it up and share it with you. It’s one of my favorites.

  2. I remember the feeling quite vividly. “Suspended between college and marriage” was aptly put. I remember the turning point day, though, the day I surrendered to God my deep longings for marriage, longings that had lured me into a nonChristian engagement w/ Mr. Wrong. When I surrendered to God, returned the ring, and told God I’d rather be single serving Him happily than married and miserably out of His will (with that guy), my spirit soared like it had just been lifted up in a hot air balloon. Never a regret. Pain, yes, but not the pain of regret, which is the heaviest and cruelest of pains.

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