— INSPIRATION-CENTERED LEADERSHIP · WORKSHOP IV —
The Pregnant
PAIN
Of A Man
Every man is pregnant with something. Today, you birth your purpose.
"The pain was the pregnancy. Today is the birth."
— WORKSHOP IV · ICL SERIES
THE PRESENTATION
Seven Slides. One Prophetic Declaration.
ABOUT THIS WORKSHOP
Workshop IV —
Fatherhood & Legacy
This workshop names what men carry in silence — the unfulfilled dreams, the unexpressed grief, the weight of fatherhood, the legacy of absent fathers — and declares: every man is pregnant with something. Today, you birth your purpose.
Drawing from the story of Joseph — a man pregnant with a dream, thrown into a pit, sold into slavery, imprisoned, yet the dream survived — this workshop reveals that the pain of gestation is not punishment. It is preparation. The pressure is the labor of purpose being born.
"You are not empty. You are expectant."BOOK THIS WORKSHOP →
FULL ICL WORKSHOP SERIES
I
The Generation That Saw Too Much
Generational Trauma & Rising
II
Mama, Why Do You Weep?
Resurrection & Hope
III
Bearing Your Cross Alone
Identity & Purpose
IV
The Pregnant PAIN Of A ManTHIS WORKSHOP
Fatherhood & Legacy
V
Strung Out On Hope
Faith & Perseverance
VI
Leadership That Begins Inside The Wound
Authenticity & Resilience
VII
Why Joy Comes In The Morning
Joy & Renewal
— SERMONIC POETRY ARCHIVE —
Workshop IV · Source Poems
The sermonic poems that undergird The Pregnant PAIN Of A Man — each one a prophetic declaration about fatherhood, legacy, identity, and the birth of purpose through pain.
POEM I
Can You See Me?
Maurice L. Calhoun
Can you see me — not the title, not the role,
Not the polished presentation, but the soul?
Can you see the weight I carry past the smile,
The miles I've walked in silence, trial by trial?
I've stood in rooms where no one called my name,
Performed with excellence, but felt the shame
Of being seen for what I do and not for who —
Can you see me? Really see me? Do you?
God sees the man behind the ministry,
The father past the failure, history.
He sees the wound beneath the warrior's chest,
And calls it blessed — and calls it to its best.
So I ask again, not out of pride or pain,
But out of hope that love might still remain:
Can you see me — broken, called, and whole?
Can you see the greatest in my soul?
POEM II
The Cab Driver, the Baggage Handler, and the Fool
Maurice L. Calhoun
Three men met at the airport of the soul,
Each one carrying something, taking toll.
The Cab Driver drove fast, no time to wait,
Dropping off burdens at every gate.
The Baggage Handler knew every bag by name,
Knew which one was heavy, which brought shame.
He tagged them all and checked them at the door —
'You can't board the plane with all of this anymore.'
The Fool refused to check a single thing,
Dragged every wound aboard, every sting.
Sat in the aisle with luggage piled high,
And wondered why the plane could never fly.
Which one are you? The driver, handler, fool?
Do you drop, release, or grip your broken tool?
God is the Handler — He knows every weight.
Check your bags at the Cross. Don't be late.
POEM III
Closed Doors
Maurice L. Calhoun
I bought a ticket, boarded fast,
Certain my future matched my past.
Right intentions, heart corrected —
Yet wrong bus routes go uninspected.
Like Moses striking before his call,
Like Peter swinging before the fall,
Like Jonah running, storm-directed —
Purpose still stood… though unexpected.
Have you walked with oil but no flame?
Called by God, yet stuck in shame?
Built for more, but feeling rejected?
Cried in prayer, 'Lord… this isn't what I expected.'
When doors swing wide but close again,
When sunshine turns to sudden rain,
When joy and pain stay interconnected —
Faith keeps whispering, 'You're still selected.'
For Jacob limped, yet touched the sky,
Wounded walk — but blessed reply.
Broken stride, yet still perfected —
Grace rewrites the unexpected.
Joy and Pain. Sunshine and Rain.
Wrong roads still lead, when guided by His Name.
POEM IV
Disenfranchised Expectations
Maurice L. Calhoun
I expected the promise to arrive on time,
Expected the blessing to follow the climb.
Expected that right would be rewarded well —
Instead I got silence, and a story to tell.
Disenfranchised — stripped of what I thought was mine,
Watching others flourish while I wait in line.
Praying the same prayer for the hundredth time,
Wondering if Heaven hears this uphill climb.
But Joseph waited in a pit and then a cell,
Hannah wept at altars, none could tell.
David hid in caves before he wore the crown —
God was not absent. God was writing it down.
Your disenfranchised season is not your final word.
The silence is not rejection — it's a seed being stirred.
What looks like loss is often labor before birth,
And Heaven is preparing you for more than earth.
POEM V
I Am Somebody?
Maurice L. Calhoun
Somebody woke up this morning, with a question in mind,
A whisper of doubt, you were trying to unwind:
'Lord… am I Somebody? Do I matter at all?
Or am I just shadows, that dance on the wall?'
God spoke in the stillness, in Love's gentle tone:
'Child, you are Mine. I have called you My own.
Before you felt broken, before you felt small,
I stamped you with Purpose, I summoned your Call.'
Reverend roared, 'I am Somebody —
Not because crowds cheer or clap for your name,
But because God shaped your soul,
With His Eternal flame.'
Say it, my people, 'I am Somebody'…
Though flowing tears hit the pillow, though nights feel long,
Though life tries to tell you, you're weak, not very strong.
Say it again: I AM SOMEBODY.
POEM VI
If There Were No Nights
Maurice L. Calhoun
If there were no nights, we'd never know the stars,
Never trace the constellations through our scars.
Never learn the language that the darkness speaks,
Never find the strength that only midnight seeks.
If there were no nights, the dawn would lose its name,
Morning would be ordinary, always the same.
But because the dark comes first and stays a while,
The light breaks through with purpose, not just style.
Joseph needed the pit before the palace came.
David needed the cave before the kingdom's flame.
Paul needed the prison cell to write the Word.
And you need this night so your morning can be heard.
So don't avoid it, don't ask how —
Just Pay Attention Inside Now.
The night is not your enemy or your end.
It is the sacred season where broken things mend.
POEM VII
P.A.I.N. — Pay Attention Inside Now
Maurice L. Calhoun
PAIN is not the enemy of purpose,
It is the language purpose speaks beneath the surface.
Every ache that wakes you in the night
Is a message from the deep asking for light.
Pay Attention Inside Now —
Not later, not when comfortable, not somehow.
The signal fires when the wound is fresh and real,
Before the scar tissue forms and you can't feel.
Jacob paid attention at the Jabbok ford,
Wrestled through the night and met the Lord.
He limped away but carried a new name —
PAIN had introduced him to his claim.
So don't avoid it, don't ask how —
Just Pay Attention Inside Now.
The pain is not your prison, it's your path.
Not the final chapter — just the aftermath.
POEM VIII
PANs in the Fire
Maurice L. Calhoun
Hey baby boy, 'What's your name?'
Is it 'Blame Game'?
Or is it 'Shame?'
Why are you so Lame?
That PAN, your Daddy,
He wasn't there, he was a slime
So, you became the Man
Way before your time.
Where are the Real Men?
That procreate, protect and take care
Where are they
That will fight with their minds, and hands worn and bare?
'Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee
Your hands can't hit, what your eyes can't see'
This is from, Muhammed Ali.
Now, I have the Fire of Dignity and Life
And, it's shut up in my bones.
It's a Fire that is burning deep
And is blazing hot under my collar.
I am nourishing a Dream
That nothing nor no one can smother
It is deep in my breast, my Negro Mother.