FIGHT ON | POEM

fight on,

till the morning light peeks above the black horizon,

and pierces the atmosphere that robs your lungs of air,

fight on till the dawn rests its warmth on your weary shoulders.

 

fight on,

keep your eyes lifted to the battlefield before you,

faint not at the blood that you shed,

for the glory of the Victor is higher than fleshly desires.

 

fight on,

fight on as nimbly as a dancer,

when the trumpets sound above the voices that plague your spirit,

fight till praise fills your ears and the war is won with rejoicing,

 

fight on, child,

be bold, for the LORD our God is our Triumph,

and courage is ours to wield with both hands,

so fight on through the storm, no matter what the future holds, because we are the warriors.

– Angie

 

PS. I have a special announcement this Valentine’s day! If you’re part of my newsletter or Facebook street team, you’ll get a heads up! So if you wanna join the team, let me know!

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S H I V E R S | POEM

A shiver,

s h i v e r,

it crawls, it whispers, it caresses

my hideous skin,

and weaves across my creaking spine,

tickling my heart of stone and causing my whirling mind to plummet,

a shiver touches my lips

and my teeth chatter

as I fight the lies the shivers bring,

s h i v e r.

A face in the mirror,

a plastered smile, wide and kind,

eyes shining weary.

A shiver slivers across my skin again

and I wonder

what it is like

to peer into the mirror

and see something that doesn’t cause

me

to

s h i v e r.

 

– Angie

NIGHT’S PROMISE | POEM

A world so small,

a sky so big,

hundreds, thousands, millions of stars,

shining and burning and dancing in the darkness,

a moon staring down at me, whispering,

be still, child;

the Creator that whispered life into the burning stars,

and stretched His hands across the heavens,

formed you.

The breath you breathe

is as powerful

as the hiding sun

and the soul pulsing through your body,

bears more power than a million galaxies.

The moon and stars are proof of His promise,

that we are beloved,

and we are no small thing.

 

– Angie

PERFECTION

“No one will even read this. It’s terrible.”

“Someone will.” His voice was gentle, comforting. “Not every heart will need to hear these words, but even if it is just one… You will have glorified the King.”

Glorify the King. That’s what I wanted to do. Why else would I pour and weep over words on paper? Why else would I carve out worlds that the naked eye couldn’t see? Why else would the Creator give me imagination, or give me characters as if the were my heroes and friends?

“You’re words are not meant to pass away…” He picked up the wrinkled wad of paper from the dusty floor, smoothing it out on my desk. “God hasn’t given you a voice just so that you can ignore it because it hurts sometimes.”

“How can I be sure they’re right? What if the words are all wrong?” I asked, forcing my voice to be steady, but that question weighed in my heart like a stone.

“You can’t.” His blue eyes shown. “That’s the beauty of it all. There is not a truly perfect thing on this vast, stunning, complex world… There is no perfect piece of art or work that comes from a human’s hands. Only God is flawless. You’ll never be sure your words are perfect. Perfection does not equal good…” Indicating the paper before me, he smiled one of his warmest smiles. “To glorify God, strive to do so. Don’t strive for perfection.”

I stared at the blank piece of paper worn with wrinkles. “You have a lot of faith in me.”

“I’ve seen your face when you get a new idea, or see something that reminds you of one of your characters…” He crossed his arm against his chest. “You’ve got things to tell… and there will be people that need to hear you. Even if it’s just one.” A smirk. “Though I doubt it’s just one.”

Faith. I had faith in God’s Gift. And I’d glorify Him with it. Even if my words weren’t perfect.

 

~~~

 

A few years ago, I read a book that briefly touched the subject of how there were a tribe of Native Americans that always left one flaw in their work. Be it a beautiful woven art piece, etc, they always made one mistake. This was done to remind them that only Creator was capable of perfection.

While I’ve forgotten which tribe this was (though I’ll be trying to find the answer!), this has stuck with me for a long time. Why? Because all I ever see is people striving for perfection. We don’t want to give God the honor of being Perfect. We want to achieve perfection ourselves.

And we can’t. We truly can’t. No many how many art classes you take, you won’t be a perfect artist. No matter how many books you write, you won’t be a perfect author. No matter how many times you practice a kata, you won’t be perfect.

God doesn’t want perfection. He wants us to seek Him. Honor Him. We can do that by having a heart for Him, no matter what we do, or how good we’re good at the task. There is beauty in doing so!

God bless,

– Ang

 

HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT THE INDIAN TRIBE’S TRADITION? ARE YOU A PERFECTIONIST?

HOMEWARD | A SHORT STORY

Hello, friend! In July, I entered the Golden Rain Short Story contest, hosted by Annie Louis Twitchell. The theme was remembrance. My mind immediately landed on the idea of a veteran/Army inspired short story… But I wanted to go further. I wanted to remember something that hurts a great deal but we often shy away from.

Suicide.

My following short story won the contest. Please note, that once the next winner of the Golden Rain contest is announced, this story will be removed off the website and I will be publishing it on Amazon Kindle only, and it will remain free. Please remain in prayer that every soul will believe suicide is not the answer.

 

HOMEWARD BY ANGELA R. WATTS

CLICK HERE TO READ

 

As you may have heard of, 22 veterans a day are lost to suicide. Suicide has become a dark stronghold on this nation, but we cannot let it win. Jesus wins. To fight the lie that suicide is, we must pray. Please share this story to help reach others.

God bless.

– Angela