My Voice

Today is my birthday. So many wonderful people have wished me a happy birthday today. For each one, I am thankful. If we, as a society, truly believe birthdays are to be celebrated, how can we, as a society, support denying developing babies the chance to experience their birth? If we can celebrate a birthday on one hand and deny a birthday on the other, then we are hypocrites of the vilest nature. Our nation is truly in a vile place when it comes to valuing the lives of the unborn. Shame on everyone who applauds New York’s decision.

I have felt physical ache and heart-pain for the babies who will never be born. I weep as I consider that the last sound a developing baby will hear is a suction machine. I sang to my babies as they grew in my womb. They heard me. And now I am blessed to get to hear their beautiful voices every single day. I am angry at those who support denying little voices the chance to sing. I wrote this poem for all of the tiny voices that no one but God has heard.

My Voice – by Kimberly Soesbee

I hear you.
Soft sweet sounds that settle me.
Like fingers reaching through the dark
And caressing my soul.
I know it not, but
I strive toward the day
When your voice will come
With soothing touch.

I hear you.
Sobs, sighs, swollen words.
The darkness thickens
My heart beats on.

I hear you.
I respond from within.
I gather new information
Like flowers in my heart.
I wiggle and grow
My hands and feet I know
With them I touch.

I hear you.
Sobs, sighs, swollen words.
Your darkness consumes
My heart beats on.

I hear you.
And I hear a new noise.
Growling, piercing
My tender new ears.
I wiggle in recoil.
Sensing too much.
This I do not want to touch.

My cries were heard
Only by God.
Why didn’t you hear me?
I heard you.

 

Ode to my Son

My son, do not fear
The uncertainties of your future.
What is unknown at 14,
Will be made clear by 25.
Your passions are like dough,
Taking shape day by day.
The clay does not begin as a finished vessel,
It must be worked.

Let the Father do His work in you.
Let Him whisper His truths to your ears.
As you listen, as you wait,
You will see the rising of the dough.
As you pray, as you read,
You will see the emptiness turn to shadow.
As you watch, as you obey,
You will see the shadow take form.

And then, my son,
You will know the greatness
For which you have been created.
Oh, my son, do not fear
The uncertainties of your future.
Your Father has it already on display
In His gallery. And it is beautiful.

Jan 5, 2019. Yesterday I enjoyed a 2+ mile walk with my son Ben. He is 14. We talked about his future and he expressed concern that he didn’t know what he wanted to do. I considered his questions and this Ode is what flowed out.

Ode to Hands

Entwined with another
Connecting two into one
No soul walks alone when her hand is held tightly
Tender gesture seen plain
Fingers form this heart-chain
Which breaks but reconnects at will
 
The soft skin familiar
Comfortable, warm, and strong
I know there is One near who loves me supremely
My future is right here
In the palm I hold dear
Oh, hand do not ever let go.

Jan 2, 2019. My daughter painted my nails today. As a watched her take my hands into her own to carefully cover my nails with purple paint, I thought about all of the hands I love to hold. Those hands are tangible reminders of God’s love for me. There is no sweeter touch than a hand-hold.