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My Jesus
Be with me in my dying.
Be with me in my dying.
Be ever with me,
For as my days are numbered,
And my final journey the door to Life,
Only if it leads to You.
© 2016 Joann Nelander
Endeavor
I love the way
You keep trying
To take the beautiful,
And make it more beautiful.
Is there no city on a hill,
No mountain grandeur,
Nor sweeping vista,
That can truly satisfy,
In its worldly reality?
Having travelled all byways,
Having scaled the heights,
Plumbed the depths
As far as you dare,
Seek still you will.
You want yet more.
You always will.
Memory does not suffice,
Camera and canvas fail.
Pixels and pigments,
Even when teased to their ends,
Falter and fall short
Of the image
Engraved on your heart.
It is as though,
At some level,
You intuit.
You fear.
You suspect.
No, you truly know.
There will always be,
One more quest,
Another dream,
Perfecting,
The not yet perfect.
You glimpse the Creator in creating.
With moon and stars,
With waterfall and rainbow,
With the wilderness and the wild,
You point.
For the sum of all,
Sunrises and sunsets,
Venues and vistas,
Still will not equal,
Just simply point.
You rise to the challenge,
Build to the crescendo,
And then must wait,
Wait till the Perfect comes.
At last,
At long, long last,
To know
The One to whom creation points
To know at last
The One True,
All Beautiful,
God.
© 2016 Joann Nelander
Music of Mother
In my beginning,
You were there,
Constant in the throbs
That matched my own.
When I came forth
Into the light
Into the cold,
You were my warmth,
Enfolding.
Now, you carry me,
At your bosom,
I sway gently
With your every move.
Even in sleep,
As in our earlier days,
With you surrounding me,
Your rhythm is comfort,
And your heartbeat, a lullaby.
Embraced, at your breast,
I learn the dance,
Loving,
I follow your lead.
©2016 Joann Nelander
Eyes
How often I beseech “All the angels and saints”,
Yet, fail to realize
The multitude of the holy,
Whom I call to my side.
They do come.
They come ready to aid,
To do battle,
To protect,
And do bless.
God give me eyes,
That I may see,
For, indeed,
I am, too often, blind.
There are microwave eyes,
Spying the sky.
We see our universe at its birth.
For eons,
We knew of no such birth.
Blindness of a kind
Can kill.
A child in the womb,
Heart beating for the cameras,
Still fails
To make a Presence known.
How blind the eyes
That refuse to see.
Father of all that is,
Give me eyes of the heart,
That I may
Make a start.
© 2016 Joann Nelander
7As you go, make this proclamation: ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.8
Child of the Cross
Mother Mary,
Witness of the Passion,
Suffering witness,
Living the Passion,
As your Jesus
Hung on the Cross.
Pray, Mary.
Pray, My Mother,
Pray for me,
Who am so scattered,
Distracted and disengaged.
Pray every moment
Of my life here on earth,
That I be prepared for suffering,
That I be prepared for eternity.
That I find my Life
In the dying of Your Son,
My Lord.
Hold my hand, O Mother,
Every moment of everyday.
Pray for my yesterdays,
My today, and tomorrows.
Guide my feet to follow
In His steps.
As forbidden fruit
Appeals in its many disguises,
And occasions of evil spring-up,
Pull me out of harm’s way.
Steer me true, O Mother,
As my heart yearns for eternity
Let my glory be
As that of Jesus,
The Cross, the Crucifixion,
And the Dying.
May I live now,
Dying to Sin.
Witnessing at your side,
As Jesus beholds you.
He pronounces me your child.
I am a child
Of the Cross of Christ,
Which came to be
To ransom men.
I behold you, Mother Mary,
And you meet your Son in me.
© 2013 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved
The Screwtape Letters (Narrated by John Cleese)
God’s Gracious Gift
I am Your gift to me.
You are My Eucharistic Lord,
Coming as food,
For my spirit,
For my soul,
For my body.
Your Life feeds my life.
Your Spirit supplies a holy Breath
To fill me and pervade my very being.
Your Father awaits my return,
Rising in You after each fall
He embraces me as He embraces You,
And weaves my future in a unity of Trinity,
Making of me a gift to the world about me.
Jesus, gift of the Father,
Gift me in Your Spirit,
To live with You the divine Life of God.
You, my Eucharist,
I offer the Father in perpetual thanksgiving.
©2016 Joann Nelander
