Lisa Cunningham
Purpose
July 26, 2009
It is 3 in the morning
I’m beginning to forget what the word “purpose” means
And the same reason why I’m struggling to piece this together at the last minute
Is the same reason why I have trouble stating and acting on my purpose
There are a million distractions separating me from my power
And I’m relatively new to the concept of saying no
The words are blurring together
And the more quickly I try to write,
The less I know
Purpose, the idea that I can direct my life
Where am I going?
I confronted a few things about myself
in last week’s Gamaliel leadership training.
I decided in a journal entry that I don’t know enough,
I’m weak, I’m scared, and I can’t truly hold my own
in a debate about my values.
I consider myself a political person
who intends to challenge injustice
and stand up for my beliefs at every turn
yet don’t make it my business to know what’s really going on or
who I’m really up against.
The powers that be
are not nervous
As I waste my time trying to please people
I make to do lists and don’t follow them
I have no personal agenda, no vision
I go with the flow
Dead fish go with the flow
What separates me from my desires?
I struggle to live with my eyes open in New York City
Because one purpose is to feel.
In a city so teeming with people
You expect community
But there is an illusion of being alone here
fear dictates conduct outside of our private homes as we
trust no one and keep to ourselves
I want to live with my eyes open in a city crying for life
Tears seeping through the pores of
stone cold faces, locked doors and grey buildings in rusty
gates
I feel a cry for life in the space between people
In subway stations and on the street
the silence that separates us
we have sacrificed our eager wonder for some illusion of
protection, but what happens when communities don’t talk
how safe is this, really?
I’ve neglected my dreams and
Numbed my desires
as systems supposedly setup to satisfy needs
now dictate our capabilities
like broken economies who discard people like dreams
and we accept,
a glass ceiling limiting our largest, truest selves
we forget to look up
hush the victories of our ancestors
accept the smallness of our daily lives
sing surrender over the hopes of our youth
how dare we.
Thus, one purpose is to feel.
Somewhere along the line I was lied to
Told all I needed to be was kind and loving, charming
Told I made people smile and that should be my role
At the expense of my soul who wants to go right, I smile and agree to go left
I sit quietly when from the depths of my throat and gut I want to scream some personal truth
I stutter when challenged by a friend because the only language I speak is nicety
What is this evil, this desire to please?
Somewhere along the way someone lied and told me
I was nice and that I pleased them, like that was how I should always be
And then I smiled at the liar and felt insignificant, like that was how I was supposed
To feel
Today I refuse to believe
I don’t know what I want
Thus, one purpose is to know.
In fact, I am feeling in a position to state some things as true
About me and who I am
About a commitment to becoming
To refuse to say “yes sir, you know best.”
To commit to living in the world with open eyes
To molding the world in the shape of justice
Fighting for life beyond survival
we were never meant to just survive
concrete and cold
I will commit to living freely
Loving fiercely,
Fighting boldly,
Holding you close as borders coldly fight to mold us enemies
Borders keep us separate
Sold and exploited
I commit to discovering my life’s purpose
Fighting ruthlessly for who I say I am
Following through with what it is I said I’d do
One purpose is to commit.
And I expect you, New Day, to hold me accountable for each and every piece.
As we are joined intentionally to fulfill our personal missions
Naming and battling for our deepest truths
Gathering ourselves gently, defiantly
Loving this teeming, bleeding, throbbing city
and beyond
Amen.
Change
October 19, 2009
Another morning, grey light.
Samsung phone alarm blares and I search for the flat snooze button
heavy
body a stone pellet
refuses to move
another day
I’m lost
I’m relying only on myself and I’m lost
Can I really do this?
Can I really do this by myself?
Another class to teach
I see Kevin, holding his face in his hands
Patricia’s frustration, I’m not getting through
Jackie’s writing that I can’t understand
Luis’ outbursts
Can I really do this?
I push myself out of bed
pushing, grinding, one step, move, moving
just keep moving
make it to the next day
the scene is grey and grey and concrete
and traffic and streetlights and grey
the scene moves like clockwork. If I stop, life will continue without
me
if I stop I may be run over, I may lose my job
but the world
will continue without me
like clockwork
I move as the city around me breathes and sighs, fights
and survives
the streets are burning
the kids are writing poetry
about violence
the kids are being bullied
at the bus stop
accustomed to being
scared
pushing, grinding, one step, move, moving
just keep moving
make it to the next day
Some days it feels like
Somebody is doing the best they can
To take the life
out of this living
I am not full enough.
and I’ll never be complete by me alone.
I’ll never be free by me alone
Yet I make no time.
no room for the spirit
I’m trying to do this on my own
—pause
But one day, a praise broke through
I was in church
My faith the size of a mustard seed
Was on layaway
I was just there to watch, to judge the pastor on his speech-making
skill and
The musicians on their ability to touch me
I entered the church doors, academic critique
On the institution of religion tucked safe
Into the leather purse
I knew too much to be touched
I just wanted my taste,
my Sunday fix
table-spoon of sanity for the week.
I didn’t expect to be in the presence of God.
But somehow as the praise leader was singing
As people around me wept
As the music blew through the rafters and around the pews
I remembered
the way Franklin seeks me out after class to tell me about his day
I remembered Fatou
and how she comes to homework help everyday
just to make sure she’s got it right
I remembered the poem Chad wrote about
honoring the dream of Martin Luther King,
about fighting for the world we want,
not succumbing to the world we see
I didn’t expect to be in the presence of God.
but God broke through
mysteriously, unexplainably
And held me
God broke through
imprinting hope
and covering the grayness of my expectations
I’m still on this journey
I’m still reaching
and please have patience
but thank you, God
for breaking me when I didn’t ask or
even want you to
thank you for prayer
and what its already changed in my life.
thank you for loving me
when I was struggling to love myself
thank you for promising to hold and mold my future
and for letting me feel your presence.
I’m reaching God
and you are here
you’ve always been here,
when I’ve chosen to see
I’d like
to be whole
in you
Amen.