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 was Irish once:
I was Irish for brief moments,
As they danced on makeshift stage.
Three sisters donned in green and white,
With ribbons in curled hair.
I was Irish for brief moments,
As locks bounced to rhythms tapped,
By jigging, flying feet,
Flitting blithely through the air.
I was Irish for brief moments,
Of merriment sublime,
Happy, joyful leaping,
Knees high, and lifted, kicking.
I was Irish for brief moments
Minstrels played their magic tunes,
And young girls moved in rocking fashion
Erin’s reveries impassioned.
I was Irish for brief moments.
Sweetly skirted colleens,
Poised on pointed toes.
Sent hearts a-skipping, happy legs a-lifting,
I was Irish for brief moments,
As fairies with green ribbons
In coiffed and flaming hair,
Spun a golden space in memory’s place.
I was Irish for brief moments,
And see again in dreaming,
Gladsome spinning, hopping, prancing,
Three sisters on stage dancing.
Yes, I was Irish once.
©2013 Joann Nelander
all rights reserved
Prepare me , O Lord,
During those moments of awe,
Even if hampered
By sleep or confusion,
Presumption, even ignorance,
As we’re Peter,John, and James
On the mountain
Of Your Transfiguration.
Prepare me for the work
With which You grace me,
In the valley of the world.
Let me remember
Of the mountain experience,
Your Love and Your Glory.
Water the seed of my baptismal faith
With the fresh water
From Your pieced side.
Be as the dew fall
On the grass of my awakening.
Honor the tears of Mother Mary,
As she looked on You,
In the Hour of Your glorification
On the Cross,
To weep with You for me.
Awe struck, I live to praise You.
Copyright 2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved
Mary, Virgin, Mother of God,
The perfectly fashioned,
And tuned instrument,
A violin,
In the hands of God,
As He plays His music
For the Son.
©2012 Joann Nelander
I am the gift
God gives to me,
Mysterious and known,
But to God.
Unfolding like the petals of a rose,
From tightly wound bud,
To glorious blossom,
Unfurled and unfettered,
I move with the wind
And dance with the sun,
Following its course
Across the sky.
I am God’s gracious gift.
He, the grace giver.
May I serve to delight Him,
By the fragrance of my being,
Offering no resistance,
As I incline
To the gentle breeze,
Or bow in storm’s fury.
The gift God gives to me,
I kiss and make return,
One smiling bloom
In God’s splendid bouquet of creation.
©2012 Joann Nelander
I offer You, O Lord,
The ground of my being,
The deep from wither
My thoughts and prayers arise.
O Holy Spirit,
Hover over the abyss within,
To grace the land
Rising out of my chaos,
Like the signal blessing
Of the dove of peace,
And a new beginning
Over the waters
After the Flood.
Free me from sin and disorder,
That my unique soul
May shout for joy,
Even for the wonder
That I am,
That You rejoice
To reveal me to be
In true humility,
That I may awaken
To give You due
Honor and praise.
Break up the clods
Of my ignorance
And self-satisfaction.
Plow my field cross hatch,
Plant my furrows with gospel seed.
Water me
That I may be a garden
Of hidden delights,
And a comfort to You
In Your rest.
Be Holy! 