Wounded Love

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

Wounded Love

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

I Dream of Heaven

Night and day, I dream of heaven.

O, not the dream that slumber brings,

that mirage that is tortuous,

with struggles and comings and goings,

jumbles and journeys

taking me far, far from home.

No, I speak now of the dream of my heart.

I dream of heaven, the cry of my heart.

With longing and yearning and surety of soul,

I labor in love for a home that I know.

Through all life’s long journey,

my days are replete

with a pilgrim’s desire,

that sheds light ‘to my feet.

Though weary, and broken, I no longer doubt,

That all heaven is waiting to welcome with shout,

one miserable sinner, it can’t do without.

By Joann Nelander

Wounded Love

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

I Dream of Heaven

Night and day, I dream of heaven.

O, not the dream that slumber brings,

that mirage that is tortuous,

with struggles and comings and goings,

jumbles and journeys

taking me far, far from home.

No, I speak now of the dream of my heart.

I dream of heaven, the cry of my heart.

With longing and yearning and surety of soul,

I labor in love for a home that I know.

Through all life’s long journey,

my days are replete

with a pilgrim’s desire,

that sheds light ‘to my feet.

Though weary, and broken, I no longer doubt,

That all heaven is waiting to welcome with shout,

one miserable sinner, it can’t do without.

By Joann Nelander

The Borg: Master, Meister, Mind

Is he Borg? He is the Borg Master, and the Borg is on the move. It is hungry and ambitious, and knows no benevolent God of love and limits. By edict, it steals the inclination to Virtue, usurping the role of conscience. Borg Master, and no other, proclaims right limits and no limits. He declares who has a right to being and how to be. He looses the license of pride and greed into his pot of promises. He stirs his brew with class hatred and malcontention. Where there was the reign of virtue, decency, morality, there is enthroned a sceptered Specter; the One, the Borg Mind ruling a “no people – no voice.”  The Borg Meister feeding on our fears, our frenzy and our fetuses.

The Borg Master contemplating and worshiping himself along with the adoring, mindless, masses. Everything becomes his; his hope, his audaciousness, his government, his plan! Your life is his to manipulate, as are your morals and your dreams. What you have will be his in the end. He covets your freedom and your laughter. He is building a State of being and a state of living in which you are a nobody, a number. Have no doubt; you, my dear cog, will be assimilated into the Borg.

Borg Mind Master wants your soul. He can taste it. He nibbles at your conscience. Resistance stirs his rhetoric, as word upon word, worms beneath your reason, reconstructing the underpinning of your logic, and your creed. Winning your vote, he has procured your serfdom. Licking his fingers, how delicious your servitude!