The Day of Small Things

You can’t get much smaller than haiku, as an art form in writing. I’m going to use my blog spot this month to bang on about them all over again. In case you missed it, I did this back in August last year, when I had written a series of haiku, during what we now know to have been the first of several lockdowns.

The haiku has been enjoying something of a renaissance in my writing again, in recent months, as I’ve joined in, sporadically, with the Rethink Creative Lent Challenge, which Joy Baker-Johnson sets up and spurs us on in, as soon as the pancakes have been eaten, each February (anyone can join in – do keep it in mind for next year if you’d like to give it a go).

 

For every day between Lent and Easter, there is a one-word prompt for participants to respond to creatively and then share with the group. For me, I find the thought of writing every day daunting, so the haiku becomes my go-to format.

 

Here’s the thing though – however hard I try to convince myself otherwise, it feels like cheating. However pleased I am with what I have produced, I struggle to count it a worthy offering, in comparison to what others write.

 

But I have been reminded, recently, of the verse in Zechariah – “Who dares despise the day of small things,” (NIV) or “For who dares make light of small beginnings?” (NET). I love where the Message takes this verse: “Does anyone dare despise this day of small beginnings? They’ll change their tune when they see Zerubbabel setting the last stone in place.”

 

No offering of writing ever goes unnoticed by God or is ever too small. The tiny haiku I write today may speak to someone, speak to me, be a complete piece in its own right, or be a building block of thought for future work.

 

James Prescott’s excellent article in this quarter’s Christian Writer magazine, added to my feeling that it is perfectly acceptable to write haiku some days – or nothing at all! He writes “It’s easy to feel shame about not being productive. We live in a world which sets our value by what we produce, how much we make. So it’s easy to be caught in the lie that we have to produce to be valuable…But the reality is, in God’s economy, that simply isn’t the case.”  He goes onto write about Sabbath time and recreation being places that new ideas can be birthed. 

It’s the same message, I think, as the Zechariah verse.  Each small thing…the walk, long bath, scribbled paragraph, journal entry …haiku…has value and each is, truly enough – especially right now, as we still live in the midst of these strange creativity-squashing times.

 

So here are some of the haiku I have written over a few years of Lent Creative Challenges.  Some are slightly comic, some are tongue-in-cheek and some are deep heart cries.  Perhaps one day I’ll use them as chapter titles for my book – if it’s good enough for Rick Riordan, it’s good enough for me.

 

I’d love to hear your strategies for coping when the “not-enough” voices start to overwhelm.

 

 

Spirit 

Counsellor, lifter

of faith, presence-bringer, fear-

slayer, peace-giver.

 

Serve

I serve. She sits. How 

Is that fair? Leave it you say? 

No. These things can’t wait.

 

Command

The first command: Love.

God, others. When did it get

So complicated?

 

Wilderness

Wildernesses. Not

Much fun to be led into.

Still, I take His hand.

Awake

"Watch and pray," he said.

But the disciples slept. Are

We the same as they?

 

Believe

"But who do you say

I am?" "Truly, the Christ, son

Of the Living God!"

 

Darkness

Light fades. Murky dusk

Gives way to dense darkness. I

Keep watch for the dawn. 

 

With

Are you really with

Me, even in this? Daughter,

Especially this.

 

Will

Smooth paths, worship flows,

Thankful heart. Rougher roads, my

Will must take the lead.

 

Prayer

Sometimes prayer feels

Like a faint smoke signal an S-

O-S you don’t hear

 

Sign

Uncertainty; a

torturous thing to face. Where

can I find a fleece?

 

Faith

Faith is holding on

to hope, through dark of winter, 

Knowing spring will come.

 

Led

To the slaughter, led.

An innocent lamb, silent;

Sheep, astray, brought home.

 

Wise 

Sand sir? Takes no time

Or rock? Slow-set but better

Storm-proof potential.

 

Treasure

Primitive clay pots,

Rugged, rough. Nestled within,

Exquisite treasure.

 

Sacrifice

Punishment deserved,

Not discharged. Instead, he hangs:

God-man, crucified.

 

Injustice

For now, they prosper. 

The first will be last, one day,

Though, and the last first.

 

Healer

Hurting, we waited. 

The healer stepped into time.

Nail-scarred hands draw us.

Covenant

Not promised: absence

Of pain. Promised: counting tears.

Lifting of heads. Peace.

Living

Pre-Covid: rush, sress.

During: boredom. After: will

we find middle ground?

Sign

Insisting on a

wet fleece, wall-writing, fire, we

miss the still, small voice.

Remember

Some days, my heart hurts

Too much to remember and

forgetting feels best.

Walk

We can't always walk.

Instead we  limp, trudge, plod, lurch.

God matches our gait.

Bless

We pray, "Bless me, Lord,"

Meaning, "Make life easy." He

blesses differently.

Georgie Tennant is a secondary school English teacher in a Norfolk Comprehensive.  She is married, with two sons, aged 12 and 10 who keep her exceptionally busy. She writes for the ACW ‘Christian Writer’ magazine occasionally, and is a contributor to the ACW-Published ‘New Life: Reflections for Lent,’ and ‘Merry Christmas, Everyone,’ and, more recently, has contributed to a phonics series, out later this year. She writes the ‘Thought for the Week’ for the local newspaper from time to time and also muses about life and loss on her blog: www.somepoemsbygeorgie.blogspot.co.uk