I will sit here,
Speaking my heart to You.
Look on me as in a garden
Tending these flowers of love.
I water them,
Sometimes with tears,
Sometimes with sweat,
And always with the water
That flows from my Baptism.
Water my garden from above.
Make my flowers grow,
And as I tend them,
Please send your angels to plant seeds
For our eternal tomorrows,
Far off, My Love,
But soon, eternally, Now.
(C)2016 Joann Nelander
Your Face
You sought solitude and prayer.
In silence, I seek You.
You sought communion with Your Father
I long to see His Face.
You, my Jesus, are that Holy Face.
I set You before the eyes of my heart.
Copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
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
My Child,
What will you worship today?
My sun warms you and brightens your day.
My plants and animals sustain you.
My ground yields it’s treasure
To build
And energize your cities.
Rivers of beauty
Play across the land,
Teeming abundantly.
You perceive
The wonder of creation,
Yet, your love
Does not go
Beyond the creature,
To see, or seek the Creator.
You do not want
To meet the artist.
You do worship.
You worship what you love.
There is little room for Me.
I am to you a thermostat
For your comfort,
Under your control.
Desiring love
I weep.
Here I am
Within reach.
Stretch out your heart
And I am yours.
My child,
What will you worship today?
Copyright 2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved
In loving the creature,
Have you discerned the Creator?
If not,
Why not?
By Joann Nelander
I listened as a tulip spoke.
Perched on her podium,
She sat in Your sunshine,
There upon my table,
Her feet wet upon stones,
Emersed from crystalline life.
No tongue could speak such eloquence.
How stately and sincere.
Earlier she had bowed low,
Her back broken,
Unable to lift her head or eyes to heaven,
But, now, she sings in colorful delight.
Her tones strum my heart’s ear.
Spritely, she smiles for having her fill
From fountains that rushed
To quench her thirst.
She looks at You,
And preaches me a homily
Of prismatic delicacy,
And beauteous design.
Her eyes reach to finger my spirit
With the flash of black on gold,
Your Love written in her petals
Sing to my soul.
©2016 Joann Nelander
Be Holy! 