Your writing prompt this week is
VOICE
For those of you who are writers, you often hear the word voice in connection with finding your writer’s voice and carrying it through your work. But it can mean many things – giving voice to your thoughts, for example. Or what about a singing voice? You could take it to mean the opposite – what about those who have no voice, literally or metaphorically?
Fact or fiction, prose or poetry, I would love to read your thoughts on this week’s prompt, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt FAITH.
Have faith, and eyes for eternity. This means that now I can keep calm and carry on as they say. I try not to let anything rattle me, I don’t allow drama in my life and I avoid toxic people. I believe in God, and that Jesus came and died for our sins and was resurrected! I have faith He will come again to Rapture us believers and we will live with Him in eternity.
Even with the wind unwinding,
even with the darkness binding
faith asserting truth is finding
life beyond the grave.
Symphony of Solitude
To wake with the first light of the sun
and hear the ancient voice of the sea
shouting out its messages to the wind
is a blessing.
I hear a seabird’s drawn out cry
a grief that speaks of forgotten faith,
will his plea go unanswered?
Yet, the waves speak of a mystery
greater than all that we could see or know
In their rhythm is a song,
a hymn that carries our prayers,
we are in the presence of something vast
that moves through the earth, the sea, and the stars.
in this moment, I have come to know
the quiet shaping of my soul,
part of an unbroken symphony
that no darkness can silence.
I am grounded by the salt of the earth,
the weight of the world,
the breath of the sea
and the distant cry of birds.
Looking up, the young woman in the corner of my eye is now front and center.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m not sure which way to go to reach my room.”
“Not to worry. What is your room number?”
“I’ve only been there once, so I forgot.”
“Still no worries. Give me your name and I’ll look it up.”
“Faith.”
“Um. How about your last name.”
“That’s it. Faith.”
“Ah here it is. You are in 303 which is to the right, down the hall after you get off the elevator. on the third floor.”
“Thank you sir.”
“You have an interesting last name.”
“I have had to live up to it.”
“I’ll bet. Well good luck this semester.”
“I have faith.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“No I mean calculus my worst subject is being taught by professor Faith.”
“He may help you a lot.”
“Let’s hope.”
The above photos were taken in Tewkesbury Abbey, a place we frequented often when we were on the boat, and we could take Maggie in with us.
This sculpture was towards the back of the Abbey, and our second choice to sit and reflect as we watched our candles flicker and dance.
To me, Faith is personal.
What works for one, does not necessarily work for another, but I have never knocked someone’s faith, whatever it is.
We all need something to believe in, to hold dear, to treasure and comfort us in times of need.
The Abbey was such a place, and we always lit a candle for our departed loved ones.
Just sitting in such a tranquil place brought its own peace.
This was The Lady Chapel, our favourite place in the Abbey.
I sat here alone with Maggie and cried, talking to my Dad, and apologising for not having any money to donate for my candle the day they told me I didn’t need Chemo after my first cancer strike.
I left feeling soothed and comforted just by being there then headed back to the boat where Hubby would be waiting for me.
This loadstone that has been on my mind is like a melody from an old song that is driving me mad, it’s like a malady. I’ve tried everything I can to make it go away but evidently I am going to have summon the faith and believe that a trip up the country is in my near future.
Like many Americans, I have lost my faith in America. It’s no longer the country I grew up in, no longer a beacon light and hope and freedom in an otherwise dark world.
I no longer recognize the American people. We used to be compassionate people who looked out for one another, lent a helping hand to the downtrodden, and invited others from around the world to join us to share the American dream.
But we have lost our compassion, our empathy for those who are struggling, and have become so nationalistic that we are deporting those who have attempt to live their lives peacefully and productively while shutting down our border to people from what our president calls “shithole countries (i.e., countries that are not predominantly white and Christian).
The fabric of our country is unraveling, the institutions that make our country work are being haphazardly dismantled. Our population is increasingly divided along ideological lines, with each side viewing the other as a threat to democracy. The richest Americans continue to accumulate massive wealth while many struggle to pay bills or afford housing.
Many of us feel disillusioned with America’s promises, institutions, and trajectory. For some, it manifests as apathy; for others, as anger or activism, and for others depression and hopelessness. For most, there is the crisis of faith in their country, driven by a complex mix of political, economic, social, and cultural factors.
And it all starts at the top, where our president is stoking fear, uncertainty, and doubt that leads to hatred and intolerance.
No faith remains
where once my faith naively shone
on my sheltered and performative life
in abject horror i now atone
for standing where the monsters lie
my faith in men forever crushed
from seeing now the truth of things
that speaking up just leaves us shushed
while evil men make us playthings
in the name of god they said
that this man was the chosen one
while he took children to his bed
they won’t condemn for what he’s done
how could my faith remain within
the framework that so easily chose
to ignore unimaginable sin
while logic and empathy are disposed
there are no good men, i am sure,
my faith in men and god destroyed
for all i see is evil pure
and “good men” standing idly by
Invisible Evidence
Are faith and belief the same?
They seem to be, but why are
There two words for one concept?
Are they identical twins?
Perhaps they are clones?
Are faith and belief the same?
Philosophers want us confused.
Sorry, I can’t be bothered.
They seem to be, but why are
we talking so much about it?
It’s moot. You have it/them or you don’t.
There are two words for one concept.
“Faith in the Quiet”, A Haibun
as i grow older, i’ve learned to slow down—not just in pace, but in how i carry life. i no longer rush to fix every broken piece or chase answers to every question. i’ve found some peace in letting things unfold.
faith—both in God and in people—is what’s kept me grounded, sane even, amid the noise and chaos that life never seems to run out of. it’s hard not to be affected by the world’s loudness, but i’ve come to rest in something deeper. this isn’t about religion, nor do i intend to persuade anyone toward a belief. it’s more like a quiet knowing—that there’s someone bigger, greater than us, who sees it all, who holds us even when we don’t realize we need holding.
and then there’s the faith i learned from my father: that whatever the moment brings—whether joy or pain—there’s always some good tucked inside it. that kind of faith doesn’t need a pulpit. it just needs an open heart.
evening light fades—
in silence, I hear
the world exhale
Faith and Sundarakandam
Faith is something close to my heart and here it is.
I have always been religious but the faith gets tested so many times. It is my second attempt at learning Sundara Kandam. A section of the epic Ramayana. I am attending a class learning meaning and the class does have some in depth analysis with multiple references.
This has definitely made me more emgrossed in it.
The study of Sundara kandam is recommended for people who are experiencing problems in life and reading it brings positivity . In the thirteenth chapter Hanuman who is in Lanka in search of Sita was feeling dejected. The entire chapter goes in a way he think what bad would happen if he returns empty hamded and his mind turns into committing suicide. Then there are some powerful prayers he does which makes him leave that decision and continue his search.
Yes, there are days I want to throw in the towel or feel bad about so many things and I have found reading this chapter helps me. I really become fresh and move on with my activities for the day. Faith can move mountains and I think it is true here for me. Are there any scientific research on my experience? I don’t think that matters. Faith can’t be put under analysis and all scientific rules.
Faith is such a curious thing
It takes such peculiar forms
a rugged cross, a mustard seed
An outstretched hand that calms the storm
It’s faith that opens our eyes to see
Beyond the veil, beyond the tears
Through the smoke and tragedy
To a brighter future that quells our fears
It’s easy to feel as if we’re mistaken
By circumstance to feel confused and shaken
But the voice of truth speaks strong and sure
And Faith’s foundation will endure
Faith a truth for some, belief in something not seen, but read about. Ambiguous promises defended by certain cultures is intriguing to me. I have faith in visible things, even though some I cannot see. Faith in family love I can see, openly visible. I think there’s something there, I don’t know what, but I find myself saying thank you out loud to it, it’s a conundrum.
Like dew on petals
In the hush of dawn,
faith clings like dew on petals—
silent, but steadfast.
Even as the winds may howl,
roots hold firm beneath the storm.
Private Library
By the time I was eleven years old, I had accumulated a large personal collection of books, ranging from children’s picture books to adult novels. Some of these books were birthday and Christmas gifts accumulated over my short life, others had been purchased at school and church fund raising fetes. I had quickly learned that book stalls at fetes were a fantastic place for me to acquire any book I wanted, regardless of suitability for a young girl. Volunteers barely glanced at my piles of books as they mechanically removed the price tags and totted up the total due. I always had a few bags on hand to stuff them into as quickly as possible. I managed to acquire a few gems like Lace, Princess Daisy, and various Dean R Koontz and Stephen King novels. I remember one book about a ship lost in the Bermuda Triangle that gave me nightmares for weeks.
Friends and my three younger sisters, regularly asked to borrow my books. This seemed like a reasonable request, but I needed to keep track of who borrowed which book. Inspiration hit and I decided to create my own library. I spent several weeks making card sleeves and cards for every book I owned. At that time, it was a few hundred as opposed to the few (three) thousand I now own in a physical form.
The day came when my library was ready, and I invited friends over to borrow books. They filled their names and the date on the beautiful blank cards and took my books away. Sadly, many came back damaged by bending or water stains and some never came back at all. This poor treatment of my most treasured possessions sadly shook my faith in humanity and I closed my library. I have never again loaned out a book that I wanted to keep. If I lend anyone a book it is technically a gift as I don’t want the post reading damaged goods returned to me. This was a life lesson I have never forgotten.
Water stained
Broken and battered
Veterans
Of neglect
And blatant indifference
Life lesson soon learned
Have Faith
Lesley had not had an easy life. Her father was an alcoholic that could go from laughing with her to screaming at her and calling her names in half a second. Her mother died when she was five. The only positive in her life was the boy next door, Bernie.
Although she was a good student, Lesley was attracted to boys who were troublemakers. She fell hard for these boys, and they always broke her heart. Bernie, loved Lesley and everyone knew it, but he was nerdy and sweet and she liked him as a friend, but that was all. They had grown up together, rode bicycles and went to the park and built ramshackle tree forts together. Lesley had always counted on his friendship when she needed a shoulder to try on, a ride to school or an extra $5 for something. He never refused her anything.
High school came to an end and Bernie left for college. He promised to call her and come home to visit when he could. Lesley was a little worried about how she would manage without him, but she had landed a new boyfriend, Brad, who was handsome, cool, exciting and mysterious, and that occupied her thoughts.
After an evening of driving around country roads drinking beer and smoking pot with Brad, Lesley was on cloud nine. They parked in a remote area and Brad had his way with her. She told herself it was what she wanted, too, but she hadn’t really had any time to consider it before it was over. Brad told her he loved her, though, so it was perfect. She loved him. They spent all their spare time together and one night, Brad asked her to marry him. Lesley said yes and cried with happiness. They found a cheap apartment and were married at the courthouse in less than a month. Lesley was in heaven.
Except that she wasn’t, not really. Brad was like her father, he drank too much and would suddenly be filled with rage over the dumbest things, swearing and throwing things and scaring her. Lesley tried to talk sense to him or help him calm down, and one night he backhanded her. Brad said he was so sorry, he hadn’t meant to hurt her, it was just that she made him so mad. She forgave him and they slept wrapped in each other’s arms that night with Brad whispering how much he loved and needed her. After, that, Brad hurt her physically on a regular basis.
Her father saw the bruises and asked her what she was doing to make her husband so mad. Her father called her stupid, and she believed it. This was what she deserved, she thought.
Bernie came home for Thanksgiving and went to Lesley’s place of employment, the Pizza King. Lesley was so glad to see him, and she gave him a hug. When Bernie squeezed her, she winced and he noticed. He ate pizza and had a beer and waited for her to get off work. He drove her to the little park where they used to hang out.
Sitting at a picnic table, Bernie told her about college and Lesley told him about marriage. She cried when she admitted how awful her life had been. Bernie urged her to leave Brad, but she said it was too hard, that he would never let her go. And she said that sometimes he was so good to her, so sweet, that she still loved him.
Before Bernie left to go back to school, he had a serious talk with Lesley. “One of these days, he’s going to really hurt you,” he said and Lesley started to protest, but he stopped her. “I have a good job on campus and student loan money left over and after Christmas break I’m going to have my own apartment. I want you to come and stay with me. Please tell me you’ll think about it. Please, Lesley, I know you don’t love me and that’s okay. But, do you have faith in me?”
“You’re the only person I have ever had faith in, Bernie,” she said.
“Then promise me you’ll think about what I said.” She nodded and they hugged good-bye.
Two weeks later Lesley was in the hospital. One of her co-workers had forced her to go. She had a black eye, a cracked rib and a concussion. Her co-worker, Jeanie, insisted that Lesley stay with her and Lesley was relieved she had someplace safe to go. Bernie called her almost every night to check on her.
Brad was angry that his wife didn’t come home. He learned where Lesley was staying and pounded on Jeanie’s door, demanding that Lesley come with him. The women told him to leave and called the police. When Brad kicked the door in, the police pulled up and arrested him. He only spent one night in jail, but he stopped coming around. Lesley filed for divorce and got a restraining order.
When Bernie came home for Christmas, he and Lesley were happy to be reunited. Lesley realized that Bernie’s love had sustained her all this time, and she realized that she did love him, after all. She went back with him and began a long journey of healing.
***
Esther Chilton 
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