I am the weaned child,
Upon Your knee.
Forgetful of time,
I curl Your hair about my fingers,
And tug at Your heartstrings.
My toys, the shiny objects of yesterday,
Lie by the stairs,
By which I began my ascent to You.
Comfort me.
Cuddle me.
Tickle me.
You spend Your universe,
As You had always planned,
Delighting one so small,
The least of the Children of Man.
© 2012 Joann Nelander
I listened as a tulip spoke.
Perched on her podium,
She sat in Your sunshine,
There upon my table,
Her feet wet upon stones,
Emersed from crystalline life.
No tongue could speak such eloquence.
How stately and sincere.
Earlier she had bowed low,
Her back broken,
Unable to lift her head or eyes to heaven,
But, now, she sings in colorful delight.
Her tones strum my heart’s ear.
Spritely, she smiles for having her fill
From fountains that rushed
To quench her thirst.
She looks at You,
And preaches me a homily
Of prismatic delicacy,
And beauteous design.
Her eyes reach to finger my spirit
With the flash of black on gold,
Your Love written in her petals
Sing to my soul.
©2016 Joann Nelander
Thomas wanted reality.
Thomas wanted answers.
Thomas wanted undeniable proof.
He trusted his mind.
He trusted his senses.
He walked by sight,
But feared to trust
The witnesses of Resurrection.
A God, with wounds of Love, understood.
A God, marked by our disbelief,
Stood before him,
In plain sight.
Thomas finger my wounds.
Feel the warmth of human flesh.
Feel the throbbing of My Heart,
Bounding against
Your hand in My Side.
Thomas, you sought only
The trappings of reality.
Am I real now,
Real enough for you,
My friend?
Standing, face to face,
Before I Am,
Bought to his knees
By living, breathing, proof,
He stands in our place.
Humbled by faith’s awakening,
Before the True Witness,
Senses satisfied,
Content, now, and forever,
He’ll follow blindly,
Unto death,
Into eternity.
“My Lord and my God.”
Copyright Joann Nelander 2012
All rights reserved
With Your Name, Jesus,
Upon my lips,
Reverberating in my heart,
I pray from the depths
Of our blessed union.
Your Holy Spirit
Forms my prayer,
Born of Faith and Love.
The child, that I am,
Cries, “Abba!”
My tiny arms
Strive to draw closer
My dearest Abba,
As encircling His inclined neck,
And stirring His Fatherly devotion
To one so small,
He kisses me with a glance.
Indulgently, and moved
To an outpouring,
By my frame
In my infancy,
My Abba caresses me
In the peace of angels,
And I live in His shalom.
Copyright 2012 Joann Nelander
Alll rights reserved
Jesus, write the symphony of my life.
In Your Mystery of becoming,
Blend every note,
And sing the harmony
That embraces the sinner
To create the saint.
You are here
With the Father and Holy Spirit,
Supping and residing,
I receive You in Holy Communion,
Grant that I might never neglect You,
My Holy Guests.
I place You on the music stand of my life.
You are the Score,
And Conductor.
All I receive, I give
On the wind of the Spirit,
To be rightly arranged.
You be the music playing in my soul.
In chorus, Seraphim and Saints intercede,
And I and all creation dance with Miriam
As Jesus mediates the Victory
In His Song of Salvation.
© 2015 Joann Nelander
Truth was never far away.
It stood erect,
And with resolve,
Waited for the moment
Of my will’s consent.
It was relentless,
Devoid of error,
Stalwart and persistent.
Truth was the beacon
On the high mountain.
It appealed to me
On the level of the good.
It drew me
As home beckons the lost.
I journeyed closer,
But as the light
Revealed my tatters
I drew back,
Trapped by my choices.
Truth is a wedding garment,
That clothes inwardly,
As well as out.
My espousals never produced
A marriage of Truth and the holy.
In its stead, I’d wed
What I wanted.
Now, I feared our distance,
And what I had become.
Desiring the right,
Even if I was wrong,
I gathered courage to my breast
And risked all in the quest.
I shed my rags
And found a covering of prayer,
A robe of humility,
And came to Love
In holy fear.
Now, I am
Full of resolve,
A stalwart knight
On Truth’s high mountain,
Carrying lighted torch
To the Dark Valley,
Into caverns of deception.
Standing tall before the Foe,
Truth girds my waist,
And undertakes to speak
Light in the darkness.
I am become an army
On the plain,
As Truth marches not alone.
It goes forth,
Drawing with it men of valor,
Choosing the death of Pride,
And living as Truth’s Bride.
©2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved
Be Holy! 