An Exodus Country Song

 

Moses Viewing the Promised Land (1846),
by Frederic Edwin Church, from songsofpraise.blogspot.com

The following is inspired poetry and not meant to be first-hand testimony.

I used to wear a ring on my left hand.
I used to wake each day and say “I can.”
I used to believe my future with one man.
So I used to wear his ring on my left hand.

I used to think he’d give the world for me,
and though he never did, I could not see.
I was so blinded by who he swore to me he’d be,
that I used to think he’d gave that ring to me.

I used to go to bed each night and pray
I’d be a better woman the next day,
that he’d find me worthy of the loving that I craved.
I used to think that kind of marriage could be saved.

But in time I took my heart off of my sleeve.
In time, I accepted it would have to bleed.
Every hope and every promise I’d believed, I’d have to grieve
a finger bare where there used to be a ring.

I used to think a man meant what he said.
I used to think it must be in my head.
I used to catch the blame he cast on me
and fear that only death could set me free.

I used to feel the guilt my hand lay bare,
that children were really better off without me there,
that he’d really done his best to love me well,
that there wasn’t another story I was allowed to tell.

So ladies, I know it’s hard to soldier on,
stand by your man and yet admit he’s the one who’s wrong.
But please believe you’re not better in his grave
just because you can’t endure the life he’s made.

Don’t choose to listen to a man who would
walk way instead of owning up like a good man of God should.
It’s not your clothes, your dreams, your taste, your mind, your hair.
It’s not your fault his heart never knew how to care.

So pack your clothes, what you can carry on your back.
Trust the Lord to supply all that you lack.
Hard-hearted pharoahs, they will tell you that you aren’t that strong,
but they’re the ones who’ll fall apart after you’re gone.

Hard hearted pharoahs are the ones who are really wrong,
so leave their plagues, my sister, walk the wilderness. Move on.
We used to wear their rings on our left hands,
slowly dying underneath their deadly brands.
But their illusive love was never meant to be our Promised Land,
so shed our shackles, grit our teeth, get up and stand.

Wake each day, my sister, tell yourself you can.
Remember God didn’t make you to belong to any man.

I wake each day, and I remind myself I can.
standing on Jordan’s stormy banks, raise my bare hand!