Although, I have been resting
In Your Most Sacred Heart,
Safe in Your holy embrace
Throughout this night,
You have been waiting for this moment,
When my eyes open,
Hoping I would look at You,
And return Your loving glance.
© 2014 Joann Nelander
Hand in hand on pilgrimage,
Joy and tears are caught up
And carried aloft,
On the wings of angels,
And placed in the brazier
Before the throne of God,
With our hearts prostrate,
And spirits pleading,
For that final awakening
Of which the Saints speak,
And the Church,
In union with Her Bridegroom,
Proclaims through the long Ages,
Leading all to Final Rest.
Come, Christ, Savior,
Come, Happiness of All Souls and Saints,
Come, my Jesus, O Journeys’ End.
copyright 2014 Joann Nelander
Refuge of Sinners
I sit in the sunshine of Your New Day.
Forgiveness has washed over me.
At Your Word,
Mercy has rained upon Your Beloved.
Hear now, You say to me:
You are safe, My little one.
You have chosen to hide yourself
In the Wound of My Sacred Heart.
The world about is cold and unholy,
Yet you are surrounded by angels of Light.
Warm and welcoming is the Living Flesh
That is your constant refuge.
I enfold you,
As you have made My Body,
Your Food, your Heart,
Your own.
Copyright 2014 Joann Nelander
Good morning, Jesus.
Here we are again,
At the beginning of a new day.
Can you feel me?
Here I am in Your Great Heart,
Reaching for You with my heart.
I feel Your eyes upon me.
You are perfume to my senses.
You are the touch of sweetness
I taste wafting on the breeze of Spirit.
You sound in my heart
With the beating of Yours.
Ever near, ever dear, everlasting,
Song of my soul.
Good morning, my Jesus.
Hold me here,
On the brink of eternity.
©2014 Joann Nelander
I am such a mess.
The rain falls on my soil,
And for a while I am mud.
No hint of fertility.
No hint of growth.
No hint of flowers.
Mud is self-forgetful,
A confusion of gift,
A profusion of promise.
The day will seed to my substance,
Serendipity and surprise,
Plantings for the morrow.
I shall lie here,
Loving my mud,
Waiting for the Sun.
© 2016 Joann Nelander
What have I, My Lord,
But my beating heart,
My pulsing blood,
My seemingly useless toil,
The tears and sweat,
That mark my life?
Yet, I persevere,
I fight,
I cry,
I shout through the Night.
Though in the tumult,
And the rancor of holocaust,
My screams scarcely rise above a whisper.
I make of my heart a sanctuary,
A resting place for my God.
I long to comfort You,
For my wounds pierce Your Heart,
And tear Your Most Innocent Flesh.
It is You Who are rejected
In the womb of the world,
Women crying,
“Get out you untimely thing.”
Men forsaking love once declared.
Come here to me.
I will cry with You.
I will tend Your wounds,
Hold Your Hallowed Hand.
Each morn anew
I will embrace my lot.
My thoughts will meet ridicule,
But the stripes,
Fall anew on You.
Soldiers of the heart
Swell Your growing ranks,
As mere men take arms
Against Legion.
Each a knight born of a Revelation,
Your Love,
Your Faithfulness,
Your Victory.
© 2016 Joann Nelander
Be Holy! 