Seeming

Seeming

Lord, you pass by.
A sea of hands reaches for You.
Straining to its end,
Determined, one hand, truly, seems all Heart.

You pass, seeming out of reach.
From Heaven the Father sees,
And satisfies the soul’s desire.
“Who touched me?”, says the Son.

© 2017 Joann Nelander

Scott Hahn -COVID 19- John-Henry Weston Show

https://youtu.be/vLF0pnDnOKY

Under the Fig Tree

untitled-175

“I Saw You Under the Fig Tree.”

All our yesterdays are forgotten
With the rush of Tomorrow.
All the words fade away.
Images are fleeting.
All praise passes into oblivion.
The compliments lost,
As unrecorded history.

All things are sand
Falling through the fingers of the Future.
None endure the winds of Time.

So, what of me?
What is the why of me?
Why do You long for me?
I feel your desire pleading
In all about me.

“I saw you under the fig tree.”
What did you see of me, O Lord?
Did you see my yearning?
Were You witness to my sin?
Did you hear the prayer I whispered,
The call of my heart.

Did you see resolve written on my face?
Did you see the love
Swelling my heart?
What did you see of me, Oh Lord,
Under the fig tree?

Because You saw me
Under the fig tree,
My heart opens to see You.
You reveal a world and love
Beyond all that is matter,
Beyond all that once mattered,
Surpassing all that is,
A world of God ,
A world of God in all,
And for all,
Dying to live in all.

I didn’t see You,
Until now,
This precious Now,
Surviving my mortality,
With the reason of my being,
With the holy vision of Thou.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

You, Before the Altar

Opening my eyes
And lifting my head
From my prayer,
My eyes fell upon you,
My friend.

Your steady gaze
Fixed on the naked Savior,
Your arms crossed
Over your breast
And you,
Lost to this world,
Spoke my prayer.
You, in iconic stature,
Embodied my heart’s cry.

Bowing my soul,
I turned within
To pray with clarity
In humble poverty of spirit,
With Faith’s certainty,
The Lord had heard,
And smiled on my desire.

Rising with my closing “Amen”,
I looked
Only to find your place
Before the altar,
Now abandoned,
Yet the holy sight is seared
On my impressionable spirit.
It lingers still.

Your gifted presence
Shall long capture,
And hold fast
The essence of being
At which I hope to arrive,
In the tabernacle of my heart,
As in pleading it resounds.
Anchored to an image
Of prayerful adoration
Living in my mind’s eye.

My God be adored,
And Your children
Forever graced.