Insignificant

I wrote this poem during a heart struggle, recognizing finally, a deep wound. A feeling of insignificance that colors my interactions with others and brings grief and anger when I experience a slight or perceive someone's greater importance. I called it pride, until my sister, Naomi, suggested pulling up that weed of pride and noticing what lay buried under those roots. The word, insignificant, came to my lips almost immediately, without thought or study. Later that day I was moved to give word to what I was feeling:

Sit in your chair
you ordinary insignificant fifth girl
Behave yourself
Read your Bible every day
Clean and dust; do the dishes
Empty the wash tubs
Braid your hair
Cover your knees
Be quiet, behave, be good
One day you might be a
missionary or a Sunday School teacher
And surely, someone's submissive wife.

There is freedom and release in recognizing one's self. There is love and grace in the embrace of my true self, even those feelings of insignificance. For in the denial of those feelings, are buried the seeds of anger and contempt that fill my gut, and spew from my mouth.