The flood waters of heaven
Pour over me.
Your Death holds me fast,
Drawing body and soul,
Down in Your Dying.
Flood gates open,
And yet, the sea parts.
By Your Spirit I pass over.
The soul that gives life to my body,
Now rises,
Your Spirit, giving Life to my soul.
More than a corpse
Raised from the dead,
I rise a priest, a prophet and a king,
Betrothed and free to be
What You would make of me.
copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
What did they say?
The men that came, then went their way.
Seeking the One all people long to see,
They left their hearths, these Wise Men Three.
“Where is He?”; the question echoes through ages long.
As He seeks a home ‘mong busy throng.
We prayed, sang and offered gifts beneath a tree.
Because He’s come for hearts, He’s come for me.
Where is He of blessed event,
Now the festive limbs are spent?
Has He found a hearth to call a throne?
Has He your heart to be His own?
©2015 Joann Nelander
From my small domain,
A mere spot
On the face of the Earth,
Shine out!
Like a monstrance,
Held high before me,
Give light to a world
In need.
O You, my Eucharist,
Heart of Love
Rule my heart.
Soul of sanctity
Convert all peoples.
Holy Truth,
Go forth to illuminate the Nations.
Then shall the heavens witness,
Your “glory dwelling in the land.”
Copyright Joann Nelander 2012
All rights reserved
Pray,
Take care
Who you turn away.
Give thought,
And ‘haps a listening ear.
In truth,
The heart of God
Beats in the beggars breast.
copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
Joann Nelander
lionessblog.com
I miss them.
I miss them all.
The years have flung them about,
Scattered them to the four winds
With little care,
And less a say.
My friends, not here,
But there,
And everywhere.
So hard to hold,
Though near, in heart,
But, oh, so very far apart.
So very dear!
I want them,
Here.
copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
It seems…
I am always talking to You,
That I am always with You,
And have no doubt
You are with me,
Listening and silent.
I am an endless monologue.
You, hovering Spirit,
Wordlessly eloquent
Abide.
You are Presence and Truth,
Listening and silent,
Thunderously silent,
Save for the stirring of my heart,
And the sometime rush of thought,
Coming, as it were,
From the bowels of my being
With frightening conviction,
And challenging my reticence
To speak aloud
The thoughts of solitude.
Reluctant always
To go about,
And leave the cloister of my heart,
Where in Your chambers I find,
And hold dear,
Private audience with the King,
The world without is a noisy charade,
And woos the pride of me take center stage.
Where suddenly I realize
I have been talking much, too much,
To my regret.
I, naggingly, suspect
I have diminished
What was my treasure
And ceased to learn.
Cacophany of me,
I cease to learn,
And simply rearrange,
That with which I am familiar.
Where do prophet, poet and a would be recluse
Find voice if not in You,
Rejecting even audience
To find You in my silence,
Your silence.
©2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved
Be Holy! 