No Empty Dream

No Empty Dream

Lamenting, I quit my case.
Sorrowing, my complaints lie with me
In dust and ashes.
The plaintiff has become defendant.

I rest the case I brought against You.
What have I proven?
That I never knew You?
That I never sought You?

Counterfeits sufficed to fill my belly.
There was always another dream on the horizon.
Tomorrows pretended to satisfy my emptiness.
The chase was the gambit that became the game.

Before You showed me mercy,
You showed me Me
Not the Me of mirrors, but the Me of my heart,
That shrunken pigmy of diminishing proportion.

Among Men, there is no forgiveness like Yours.
If judged by Men, I would be meted punishment
By the self-righteously righteous,
While the unrighteous, would applaud my vice and welcome me at the hearth,
No forgiveness necessary, where sin is no sin.

As gift, the clarity of Day, dawned suddenly,
You appeared with Light as Your garment,
In Your Light I was all Darkness,
Pretense dissipated as Your Sun rose.

The world appeared not as a prize but as a wonder.
Nature didn’t dictate; it served.
The heart of mothers where turned back to their children.
And You reigned as King.

I would have fainted away,
Had not the Good Thief stood by Your side.
He smiled my way,
Eyes twinkling at the memory of his meeting You upon Your Cross.
Assurances asked, assurances given.
Simple eternal words.

Coming full circle, I rest upon Your arm,
You lift up my head and incline to comfort me.
Mercy smiles on my repentant heart,
And plans for me a future full of hope.

You Who laid the foundation of the Earth,
Plot a course for me through the Wilderness of the world.
My pilgrimage from sin to saint
Leads through Two Hearts bound by a Mystery uniting Heaven and Earth.

Birthed anew in Baptism,
Restored again in Reconciliation,
Your grace acts on me, Your grace acts in me.
All grace that waited upon my willing.

My will is now that of a child.
I follow at Your side, learning Your ways.
Your Words are my food and my fullness.
Heaven is no longer an empty dream, but a Promise.
From Your lips on the Cross, piercing my heart.

“Father forgive them.
They know not what they do.”

By  ©2011 Joann Nelander

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The Least and the Last,

May I, the least and the last,
Who labor in Your vineyard,
None the less, bear fruit,
One hundred fold.

I dare such dreams,
And bear such hope,
For though, the meanest,
And the smallest,
Saints and angels attend me,
Together, we labor for Your glory.

Some know You explicitly,
While others simply wonder at Your Creation,
Not realizing that Creation waits on tiptoe,
Willing Your Will.

May all who implicitly perceive You darkly,
Know You in the Light of Jesus, Your Son,
The First Born of Your Love,
That even the least and the last,
May rejoice at Your Coming to claim Your own.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

All Creation waits on tiptoe for the revelation of the sons of God. (Rom. 8:19)