Who am I?
Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote this poem during his time in prison in the 1940s. He was a determined man of God that influenced many for Christ during the harships of Hitler, yet struggled with the same fleshly battle all of us face.
"Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell's confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
like a Squire from his country house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
freely and friendly and clearly
as though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
yearning for colours, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighbourliness,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
faint and ready to say farewell to it all.
Who am I? This or the Other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
and before myself a contemptible woebegone weakling?
Or is something withing me still like a beaten army
fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!"
Words that are Beautiful. Inspiring. Contagious.
i feel all to often the same in my own life...struggling with the feelings of being a "contemptible woebegone weakling" yet feeling the tingling sensation of victory over death in my life as well as trying to make sense of the words of others and their appraisal in what seems-in-their-eyes strong and beautiful.
If i may...inspired by the words of Bonhoeffer, i've scribbled my own "Who am I?" ...
"Who am i? They often tell me
i stepped into work with a smile
Cheerfully, radiantly, calmly
like one that enjoys what she does
Who am i? They often tell me
i used to speak to men and women
boldly, truthfully, confidently,
with conviction as a woman of God
Who am i? They also tell me
i bore the days of evil
peacefully, prayerfully, hope-filled
as one eager of the day of our King.
Am i really then that which other's words describe me to be?
Or am i only what i know myself to be?
Restless and longing and sick, like a child pinned to his high-chair
struggling for freedom,
yearning to be released from the straps that hold me down,
fighting the food unwillingly stuffed down my throat,
thirsting for the word "GO," to be sent,
expectant of greater things,
yet tossing and turning in my heart due to ache,
powerlessly trembling for friends an infinite distance away
weary and empty of prayers, of love, of service,
fatigued and ready to say "peace-out" to it all.
Who am i? This or the Other?
Am i so bipolar from one day to the next?
Can i possibly be both at once? A hyprocrite before others
and a despicable despondent milksop before myself?
Or is something still within me like a defeated army
quickly retreating from victory already won?
Who am i? These lonely questions haunt me.
Whoever i am, God knows, and in Him i am free yet forever still His maidservant."
"Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell's confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
like a Squire from his country house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
freely and friendly and clearly
as though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
yearning for colours, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighbourliness,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
faint and ready to say farewell to it all.
Who am I? This or the Other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
and before myself a contemptible woebegone weakling?
Or is something withing me still like a beaten army
fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!"
Words that are Beautiful. Inspiring. Contagious.
i feel all to often the same in my own life...struggling with the feelings of being a "contemptible woebegone weakling" yet feeling the tingling sensation of victory over death in my life as well as trying to make sense of the words of others and their appraisal in what seems-in-their-eyes strong and beautiful.
If i may...inspired by the words of Bonhoeffer, i've scribbled my own "Who am I?" ...
"Who am i? They often tell me
i stepped into work with a smile
Cheerfully, radiantly, calmly
like one that enjoys what she does
Who am i? They often tell me
i used to speak to men and women
boldly, truthfully, confidently,
with conviction as a woman of God
Who am i? They also tell me
i bore the days of evil
peacefully, prayerfully, hope-filled
as one eager of the day of our King.
Am i really then that which other's words describe me to be?
Or am i only what i know myself to be?
Restless and longing and sick, like a child pinned to his high-chair
struggling for freedom,
yearning to be released from the straps that hold me down,
fighting the food unwillingly stuffed down my throat,
thirsting for the word "GO," to be sent,
expectant of greater things,
yet tossing and turning in my heart due to ache,
powerlessly trembling for friends an infinite distance away
weary and empty of prayers, of love, of service,
fatigued and ready to say "peace-out" to it all.
Who am i? This or the Other?
Am i so bipolar from one day to the next?
Can i possibly be both at once? A hyprocrite before others
and a despicable despondent milksop before myself?
Or is something still within me like a defeated army
quickly retreating from victory already won?
Who am i? These lonely questions haunt me.
Whoever i am, God knows, and in Him i am free yet forever still His maidservant."
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