I write silly books for kids, it’s true. (And we’re working on Book #3! You can follow along with that progress on my Instagram feed.) But here on the blog, I prefer to write to their moms and dads and grandmas and grandpas (and maybe the occasional aunt and uncle). So if you’ve ever lived and if you’ve ever hurt, this next series is for you.
Have you read any of Brené Brown’s work? DO IT. She’s a researcher on shame and vulnerability and courage and authenticity. She has several powerful Ted Talks and is an incredible storyteller. Your life will be better for hearing her. Brené says that “owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it.” These poems over the next four weeks are my attempt at owning my most recent story. One that I think has been being written for far longer than I was willing to acknowledge. It was painful to live through, and my eyes still stare at the floor when I speak about it. But once I was able to embrace the story, difficult as it was, I was finally able to learn…and am slowly moving into the next chapter of that story. I know my experiences are not unique to me. It is my prayer that these poems will speak to you in your season and will encourage you in the faithfulness of God.
…………………………
These last couple years have been a huge learning curve for me (and not just as a writer). After a number of difficult experiences, I felt wrecked. Beat up. Knocked down. But as I slowly regained consciousness and had more mental capacity to reflect, I realized that I had not fought people or circumstances but rather that I had fought God Himself. I was reminded of the story in the Bible where Jacob wrestled an angel and the angel touched his hip and left him with a limp. I felt like I had been forced to limp. That my breakneck speed had been abruptly stopped. And now, over a year since my life was interrupted, I can see that God had actually loved me in allowing my hurt…and that maybe, just maybe, He had even authored my pain. For my ultimate good. For His ultimate glory.

I Wrestled
by Sarah Steele
I wrestled a force
that was bigger than I
and I lost
Lost my strength
Lost my love
Lost my heart
Lost my mind
Everything that was
was gone
I don’t know how long
we fought.
When you speak so much,
you don’t really know
how long
the other
was talking.
When you run so fast,
you don’t really know
how many
people
you’re passing.
But suddenly
I was knocked out and
my arms wouldn’t raise
my love was locked up
my heart barely thumped
my mind was a whirl
or complete silence
The fight was over
and all I could feel
was that
I
hadn’t
won.
Of course, that happens
when you wrestle a force
that is bigger than you.
As I lay there
stunned by the final strike
shaking from the final blow
I had an overwhelmingly
strange feeling
that this loss
was for
my
good
To lose
is gain?
To die
is life?
Can the loser be loved
by the winner?
Can the winner dominate
and yet beat so tenderly?
I tried to stand,
knees buckling
blood rushing
tears streaming
Over and over I tried
Bystanders came to help
I leaned on them
They carried me
To the doctor
to the hospital
to the emergency room
into surgery
to my bed
and finally
one hopeful day
back to my home
I reached out to thank them
touch the hands that had held me for so long
read the faces of those I loved
who had loved me
There was only one
In that whole room
One face
The one whom I had fought
My surprise
did not surprise him
My alarm
did not alarm him
My distress
did not distress him
I recognized the hands
that once had bruised me
I recognized the feet
that had danced around me
I recognized the face
unscathed by my attempts
to come out the victor
And he reached out
to touch me
But this time when I felt him
I didn’t fight
I learned for the first time
what it meant to
surrender
to something bigger than I
And when I did I
found a strength
not my own
found a love
that loves first
found a heart
that beats steady
found a mind
full of Truth
I wrestled
a force that was bigger than I
and I lost
And that was my biggest win.
Beautiful! I think many of us have wrestled and lost to win but you are one of the few brave enough to speak of it. <3
Brave is nearly the last thing I feel. More like vulnerable, exposed, maybe partially ashamed that I needed such disciplining. But I do feel braver knowing that God has disciplined so many of us in this way–with such pain, yet such love. Much like a parent, yes? Thank you for adding your voice here…
Whoa! I am going to write an unspiritual comment here since I don’t know the details about your situation, but that was some seriously powerful poetry! The rhythm and pauses, the candence and spacing: great stuff.
Also this doesn’t need to be said, but I will: reading this makes me spiritually thoughtful and eternally grateful to Jesus.
I’ve never had poetry flow out in the same manner as this and the next three poems. Normally, I love to rhyme, but these ones just couldn’t be forced into whatever perfect pattern I had contrived for them. They swirled around in my brain for weeks, and when they were ready, they came out…on their own terms. I’m glad you felt that difference, that power, as you named it.
And thank you, Jesus, for your kindness and long suffering and grace! AMEN.
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You write such beautiful poetry, Sarah. You say words I have felt exactly but in a way different than how I express them (because I can only write in prose). I’m so thankful for your friendship… thankful that though we have different journeys, we have similar journeys, and we can understand each other. Love you!
I cried when I read this, Alisha, re-reading the poem through your eyes. I’m so thankful that He loves us enough to discipline us. It reminds me of when David said that he would rather be attacked by the Lord than by man, because God’s mercy is so great. Oh, how He loves us. Even enough to let us hurt, dare I say, even to hurt us. What an incomprehensible thought!