Child of the Cross

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

Many Veils

Many Veils

Still the many veils
Stand between us.
I know they are the weave
Of my concupiscence,
Hanging over my heart,
Weighing the corners
Of my smile,
Hiding me from You
In my shame.

Must I forgive myself
For being other
Than Your Christ?
My imperfection,
And repeated falls
Spoil my high hopes,
But I find them useful as well,
For the crushing of my pride.

The temptation to reign
In the place of God
Is Satan’s prompt,
And plays persistently,
Appealing in its disguise
As progressive,
And evolution at its finest.

Unveiled before you
In humility
I see my call to be least,
And allow You to reign
Great in me.

Lord, triumph over vain glory,
Accomplish all
The Father desires for me,
That my baptismal garment
Of purest white
May appear
In all the colors
Of Your Glory,
God resplendent
Even in His smallest work
And humblest creature.

By Joann Nelander

Tears’ Requite

Tears’ Requite
Awash on shores of errant heart,
Crystalline soldiers wend their depart.

The battle o’er, the mend begun,
Hovering Spirit break forth thy sun.

You tugged as moon on ebbing tide,
To etch and burrow as to chide,

But than as swells of billowed lace,
You left a smile of radiant grace.

To purge my soul of sorrow’s trough,
You gently rain to Spirit off

The crust and brine of life’s past sin,
and let your troves of laughter in.

Providence of wind and wave
Serve but to resurrect and save.

by Joann Nelander