April 19, 2013
Well Ladies this is for You, I present a poem by Niema Smith:
Taken from man,
Perfectly formed by the handy work of Almighty God,
Made suitable and perfectly fit for him.
A gift given to man to compliment him,
To help him, to uphold him, to strengthen him,
To pleasure him, to receive from him, to bring increase to him,
To rule with him, to be provided for by him, to be protected by him,
To be cared for by him.
Then off alone, enjoying the beauty of her surroundings,
She’s lead astray, out from her covering,
She’s enticed, cunningly seduced by the evil one.
Tested, tempted, influenced, deceived,
Stripped of identity, raped of the glory of God.
Now she’s vulnerable, naked, ashamed, blamed, uncovered
Like a parent to a child, punished for her actions of disobedience by her Creator,
She’s cursed with pain in childbirth,
Cursed with yearning for a husband, deprived by him for want.
Enemy of the enemy, waging war with the enemy,
Given the promise of redemption.
Driven out from Paradise,
She’s now an outcast, subject to being tolerated, misused, abused, disrespected,
Devalued, belittled, mistreated, abandoned to fend for herself and her children,
Lusted after, used.
And she’s hurt, broken, insecure, disappointed, depressed, bitter, angry, resentful, contentious, quarrelsome, course, hard, competitive, deceptive, seductive, promiscuous, beguiling,
malicious, spiteful, jealous, apathetic, weary , at the end of her rope
At the appointed time, she’s chosen
Chosen to fulfill the prophetic promise,
A virgin chosen for conception by the Spirit of God
To give birth to the Savior,
The One to settle the score with the enemy
And through His ultimate sacrifice
She’s redeemed, reconciled, restored
She’s the slave, the mistress, the concubine, the handmaid, the whore, the prostitute,
Fighting a seemingly hopeless battle to prove her worth.
She’s the wife and mother, the single mother, the daughter abandoned by her father, raised by the rejected mother, or the daughter of parents too busy to give her the attention she craves.
the sister, the aunt, the grandmother,
She’s rebellious, independent, Miss “I don’t need a man”,
She’s a doctor, a lawyer, a judge, a politician, she’s climbing the corporate ladder, an entrepreneur
She’s an actress, a singer, a writer,
She’s tall, she’s short, she’s curvatious, she’s average,
She’s from all cultures, all races, all religious beliefs,
She’s all over the world
Despite all that she was and all she’s become,
She’s still apathetic, she’s weary, she’s at the end of her rope.
And in her anguish, in her pain she cries out as with groaning in labor pangs
He hears, filled with compassion for His daughter
His presence surrounds her like a warm comforter on a cold winter night
She’s at peace, filled with unspeakable joy.
Through the pain, through the struggles, through the disappointments,
through the trials, through the tests,
Giving her back what the enemy had stolen,
God reminded her of who she is and was all along.
He speaks, “Daughter, virtuous you are. Worth far more than rubies.
You are my handy work, fearfully and wonderfully made.
The glory of man. Created in my image.”
YOU ARE WOMAN.