Apologetics

One of my goals for The Estuary blog centers on featuring a variety of art forms focused on worship. My brother inherited the family talent for drawing, and I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. My lack in those areas convinced me that I wasn’t an artist. But I’ve come to see that art is much broader than drawing and singing. Photography, poetry, pottery, songwriting . . . the creative arts encompass much more than images on a canvas. So you’ll see a variety of art forms scattered throughout the posts here.

Today, I’ve invited Stephanie McIntosh to share her poem Apologetics with us.

I pored over those words you wrote me

again last night

and they spoke to me fresh and pierced

my soul

like I had soaked in living water.

This morning, the pages rest—

fully dry now

but with rippled spots

from so much

cheek-streaming regret,

and I can’t think of

anything

besides how sorely I owe you an apology,

you whose words flow gentle and kind

despite my ugly but

apologetic heart.

I think apologetically now

about that time

at the dinner party.

You

only wished for my presence with

you,

but the empty stove mocked me

and grimy floors beckoned

and I chose plates

over the depth of

breathing

you

in.

I forgot that you’re the way.

I think apologetically now

about that time

on the lake when the ashen clouds

roared with authority.

You

only wanted me to trust

you

enough to brave the waves,

but I

shied away from you

and preferred my feet planted

where I

felt safe.

I forgot that you’re the truth.

I think apologetically now

about that time

in the garden.

You

only asked that I stay up to talk with

you,

but my weak flesh betrayed you

and my heavy eyelids fell

and I

surrounded you with deafening silence

on your darkest night.

I forgot that you’re the life.

And I think apologetically now

about all the times

I try to carry the weight

of a world that

you

already

set

free.

You set me free, too,

but

I forget.

Stephanie McIntosh

Stephanie McIntosh writes stories and poems about faith and the human experience. She teaches kindergarten most days, practices woodworking sometimes, and studies at Dallas Theological Seminary in between. Stephanie also holds both a bachelor’s degree in Human Biology and a master’s in Elementary Education from Stanford University. She and her husband share a home in North Carolina with their three children, a usually-empty snickerdoodle jar, and a collection of time-worn hardcovers.