This balancing beam . . .
A poem
i loathed it then
i dislike it now
was physical
now spiritual
days i stick, complete, and stay on
then days of slips, stumbles, and falling hard
Lord Jesus, i don’t know
how to balance this
i was consistent
so i thought
but now i'm in mid air, with heart completely bare
needing to land
Your my Coach
but i don’t see you, feel you, do i even know you
i get scared i perform
not for you, but them
but you have given me this talent
so i should not bury and relent
correct?
slips of self worth
self destruction
self critic
stumbles of pride
of comparing
of kind jealousy
falls from fatigue
from empty
from carrying
this routine, i don’t like it
can i have a new one
one where slips, stumbles, and falling
are expected, not detested
Coach Jesus, i am sorry
please, lets start again
i have been in this training long enough
that you have to be in this rough
if not, this whole life would be in vain
just like 1 Corinthians 15:14 proclaims
if that was the case, i would deteriorate
but i will not deflate
i will stand upright
lets hop on again,
for you are in me, the routine, and this balancing beam
And when I slip, stumble, and fall
Your grace will catch me and allow me to still stand tall
Scripture Inspiration: Matthew 25:14-30, Proverbs 24:16, and 1 Corinthians 15:14 
Thoughts . . .
I would love to know how this poem spoke to you. Feel free to comment. Blessings beautiful ones 🖤
Photo Recognition: First photo was by Vadim Bogulov on Unplash. The second one by Rodrigo Ramos on Unsplash. Thank you!
Ashley, there is such a deep vulnerability and honesty in this poem. What struck me most is that underneath the balancing beam metaphor feels like a profoundly human spiritual question:
“If I slip… will I still be allowed to stay?”
I don’t actually hear fear of failure in the ordinary sense here. I hear fear of disconnection after failure, which I suspect many people carry far more deeply than they realize. For many of us, being wrong has become emotionally tied to shame, distance, criticism, or loss of belonging. So slipping off the beam no longer feels educational… it feels existential.
That is why this line hit me so hard:
“one where slips, stumbles, and falling
are expected, not detested”
That feels like the cry of someone asking:
“Can you give me space to learn?”
And honestly, that is what discipleship actually is. Apprenticeship. Process. Returning again and again. Spiral learning. No good teacher expects mastery on first exposure, and yet so many people carry the fear that one failure means disqualification.
What makes this poem powerful is that you do not hide behind polished spirituality. You let us see the tension:
the exhaustion,
the self-criticism,
the comparison,
the desire to perform,
and still the longing to remain connected to Jesus through it all.
The “Coach Jesus” imagery became really moving to me by the end because a real coach expects falling during training. Falling is not proof you do not belong. It is part of learning balance.
Beautifully vulnerable writing. Thank you for sharing it so honestly.
HThis really spoke to me and it's kind of strange because I was thinking about the balancing beam this past weekend and how I could relate this balancing act with faith. Because I was balancing on this railing a few days ago after I did a very difficult thing I felt God calling me to do, as a sort of release afterwards. Then I was reminded how I used to walk alone around that border on the playground in grade school, just focing on balancing.
Your poem explains it perfectly. All this turmoil in our souls that just constantly fight against us. Everything you mentioned I can relate too. It's so difficult always trying to keep the balance.
But the good news is, it's not our job to keep the balance, it's God's. And we just need to tell Him everything, giving it all to Him. And He’s the one that will always keep picking us up, no matter how many times we fall. 💙