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I wrote this one many many years ago now. It was in response to a situation we expereinced then, possibly 12 or 13 years back. Things drastically changed for the better immediately after this and ever since, but the lessons that can be learned from it are always relevant.
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If you ever look in the eyes of a child so hurt, so damaged that he or she has withdrawn inside his or her self, it is a sight that I doubt you will ever forget. I know I never will.
For some 15 years I was blessed enough to be able to work with the homeless, single parent families and with folk suffering from mental illness.
In those 15 years I saw many a child of various ages about whom this poem could have be written. In truth this poem ends with a question. For me there is one eternal answer. The answer is Christ, but for me to know it is but one part of the equation. They too must know it. So we must ask ourselves, what is our responsibility in this?
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In life we can all too often face peer and other pressures. All too often especially as youngsters we are being forced to be what others want us to be. On top of all this, the more we suffer from rejection, a lack of self worth, a lock of confidence etc., the easier it is to put on masks in order to be what others want or expect us to be or simply to protect ourselves.
The difficulty is, and trust me it is so very sad when this happens, that sometimes we can put on so many masks and become so adept at creating and wearing them that we simply forget which face is the real us.
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I was watching the television news, one afternoon and it was showing the state of poverty in a country – one that shall remain nameless as which country it was is irrelevant. The pictures of poverty; sick, hungry and homeless children touched my heart.
After the news I was flicking through the channels on the television set and saw one of those holiday programs. They were advertising the very same country and area but the picture they built was very different to that shown on the news.
Ah spin doctors and marketers, you just got to love them. This poem was written in response to that situation and because the same situation can happen anywhere in the world
Seldom, did I hear the words, “I’m proud of you my child.”
Seldom, was my father’s touch, loving, soft or mild.
Seldom, could I find a trust, in truth to have and keep.
Seldom, could I ever show, the marks that cut so deep
Seldom, did a night go past, without the tears I shed?
Seldom, did the dark, not hide, this child beneath his bed?
And when I’ve grown, to who I am, the one I ought to be?
Will seldom be, the word most used, of the love that comes from me?
Or will scars heal, within my soul, not only on my skin?
I hope so Lord, for on that day, I know in love I’ll win!
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I have heard so many tragic stories over the years that I have been blessed to work with folk who have been hurt in more ways than anyone should have been hurt.
Sadly too many I can personally relate to in one form or another.
This poem is a cry out to the Lord. And I know He is listening.
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Many moons ago I got myself into trouble and I left my home, my family, the girl I loved and walked out in the night.
I had no choice that I could see at that time, and felt I had to go and so I did. It meant months of sleeping rough on the streets and led to experiences that I could not even begin to describe.
Many of them are related in my poetry and yet so many held within them blessings beyond explanation and one such an experience was the night when laying cold and lifeless in a store front somewhere in Birmingham England, this dream came to me.
For those who are not familiar with English expressions a fag-butt is a cigarette butt.
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I offer no explanation for this particular poem just two simple but wonderfully true statements…
If you are relating to this poem as an abuse survivor, then trust me God is a faithful true and loving Father who truly can heal the scars – even yours.
If it speaks to you as a parent who has been abusive or as someone who does or has inflicted scars on others, then trust me God is a faithful true and loving Father who truly can heal scars
– even yours.
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Over the years I have been so blessed to have met and grown to love so many wonderful folk of all ages. Many have become family to me. Jeremy is one such person, young, sad, of mixed race and extremely mindful of this, he was rejected by his parents and was so very sad. I wrote this poem for him.
