Milk and Honey

I hear of folly and fowl play.
I look to You,
And remember Your Cross.

The psalmist sang of the Dark Valley.
Yet knew Your Presence and Your shield.

Here in my world,
Reign and sup with me.

Hope surrounds me.
As I am Yours,
Beloved child in sweet surrender.

Even Pharaoh served Your purpose.
His obstinacy but a tool in Your Hand.
The Red Sea became a bridge.
Joining heaven to a People.

Times change.
Passover continues.
Your Will,
My Land of Milk and Honey.

©2016 Joann Nelander

Lifting the Veil

Lift the veil in this morass of Sin,
That faith may blossom and hope enter in.
Let the Sun of Justice shine
Upon a people in decline,
That looking up from the tyranny of power and things
Your face may captivate and solace bring.

Pour down torrents of Thy Grace
To cleanse this dry and brutal place ,
Uproot to plant anew
A Day of peace like settled dew,
That minds be bright and intellects sublime
And our only glory may be Thine.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

Seed of Hope

The seed is alive,
With the Future.
The seed
Buried seeking light.

The one Adam,
The store of generations,
Begetting,
But not solely of himself.

One alike in nature,
But unique to the task,
Played by his side,
The delight of Paradise.

Sin entered in.
Nature, sublime,
Met the devil in his slime.
Havoc and hell followed,
On a Fall
For the all,
Yet to be.

Generation,
Degeneration,
Retribution.
No restitution,
No remedy for institution.

Generations
Living under a curse,
Dying in time.
Eden lost,
Without return.

Until the One,
The sent
The holy.
Began His reign,
Faith born.
To invite again,
To turn again
From the mire!
Unto hope.

Confronting the curse
Hanging from the cross,
Accursed,
Becoming Sin,
Sin meeting its end
In Him.

Meeting His end
Defeating the end
To be the beginning,
First born of the Dead.

To be for us
To be forever New,
New life
New hope.

Finding Adam in his grave
Dry bones moved by the Spirit.
Rise with him.

A new beginning
Rising from death
To call all to life.

The life of Adam,
Born through the ages,
Played out in generations.
Out of one, many.

He, Christ,
Descending
Gathering ,
Mending,
All ascending ,
Captive to the Light.

The seed
Become
His Life,
The future without end,
Living life without end.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

Milk and Honey

I hear of folly and fowl play.
I look to You,
And remember Your Cross.

The psalmist sang of the Dark Valley.
Yet knew Your Presence and Your shield.

Here in my world,
Reign and sup with me.

Hope surrounds me.
As I am Yours,
Beloved child in sweet surrender.

Even Pharaoh served Your purpose.
His obstinacy but a tool in Your Hand.
The Red Sea became a bridge.
Joining heaven to a People.

Times change.
Passover continues.
Your Will,
My Land of Milk and Honey.

©2016 Joann Nelander

Abundant Breast

I adore.
You, my God, present Yourself to me,
As Mother to a nursing child,
And I nurse at Your Abundant Breast.

Your milk is sweet as honey,
And all I want to do is nurse.
I have chosen the better part,
And You spend Yourself upon my want.

God, You, Who calls forth Life,
And then feeds and sustains the needy,
With endless Love,
Succor and suckle me.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

 

“For thus says the LORD:
I will spread prosperity over her like a river,
like an overflowing torrent,
the wealth of nations.
You shall nurse, carried in her arms,
cradled upon her knees;

As a mother comforts her child,
so I will comfort you;
in Jerusalem you shall find your comfort.”

Is: 66: 12 – 13

 

Invite the Angels and Saints

I’ll be headed out the door in a few minutes to attend the Mass. It amazes me that year after year I have been given the grace to participate in daily mass. It is a great blessing especially since I am no saint.  I’m slogging it out here below hoping one day that Jesus will call me and bid me come to Him that with angels and saints I might be with Him forever.

Sometimes at communion, I am overjoyed but most often my feelings are like those expressed by the Little Flower.  Would that my response also be as hers.

What can I tell you, dear Mother, about my thanksgivings after Communion? There is no time when I taste less consolation. But this is what I should expect. I desire to receive Our Lord, not for my own satisfaction, but simply to give Him pleasure. I picture my soul as a piece of waste ground and beg Our Blessed Lady to take away my imperfections–which are as heaps of rubbish–and to build upon it a splendid tabernacle worthy of Heaven, and adorn it with her own adornments. Then I invite all the Angels and Saints to come and sing canticles of love, and it seems to me that Jesus is well pleased to see Himself received so grandly, and I share in His joy. But all this does not prevent distractions and drowsiness from troubling me, and not unfrequently I resolve to continue my thanksgiving throughout the day, since I made it so badly in choir. You see, dear Mother, that my way is not the way of fear; I can always make myself happy, and profit by my imperfections, and Our Lord Himself encourages me in this path.”