Hide me, Lord
On the mountain
Of Your Love.
Place me in the cleft
Of the Rock.
Play for me
The music of silence.
Shelter me
From the storm and noise
Of the world.
©2013 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved
Tag Archives: Poetry
I’m Doing the Best I Can Do
I say it so often,
“I am doing the best I can do.”
My heart breaks,
For I desire to do all for You,
Yet, I am full of myself,
And You seem silent.
I am still of the earth
And aspire to heaven.
I am so common,
Yet You call me “Beloved”,
And “Child of God”.
My end draws near,
As it does for all men.
Many count their days endless,
And take no account.
What of my end?
Do I please You,
Who number my days,
And promise endless life?
Abandonment draws me
To Your Heart.
Do everything for me,
And in peace
I shall rest in You,
Endless Love of countless days,
Receive me.
by Joann Nelander
Today is the memorial of St. Bernard who wrote:
“The faithful know how much need they have of Jesus and Him crucified; but though they wonder and rejoice at the ineffable love made manifest in Him, they are not daunted at having no more than their own poor souls to give in return for such great and condescending charity. They love all the more, because they know themselves to be loved so exceedingly… ”
St. Bernard of Clairvaux, On Loving God, Christian Classics Ethereal Library, 7, http://www.ccel.org.
Who is the Poorest of the Poor?
Who is the poorest of the Poor?
Is it not the one deprived of womb?
Is it not the one gone unnamed?
Given a frame
But denied rightful claim,
Stripped bear of place,
No space to grow,
Deprived of a proper birth?
Is it not the one evicted,
Before drawing it’s first breath,
Whose beating heart is silenced,
With the sanction of the Court!?
With privacy,
Lest the whole world hear it’s cry?
Though a mother forget her child,
The Father of all fathers
Will not, no never, forget.
He has a place,
And a name,
For all the poor,
For the poorest
Of the poor,
Called “Beloved”
And “Poor No More”.
©2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved
I See You Through Tears
I see You through tears,
Cascading as a cleansing waterfall,
Washing away,
And carrying away,
The deeds and impurities
Of the Old Man.
Virginal flesh as gift,
Are my arraignment.
Looking in the mirror,
I see me with my eyes,
But in faith,
I see You.
The taint and stain of Sin,
The mocking of the Accuser,
Can not touch me.
Here in Your arms,
Under Your Mantle.
I find rest.
Tent with me.
Cover me.
Grace me,
And transform me,
As a land restored
And fertile .
Let me hear the roar
Of the cleansing waterfall.
Drown out
With a holy whisper,
The remembrance of Egypt,
And the shame of slavery.
My tears remind me
Of the interior bath,
And healing balm,
The gracious gift of Your work
By Your Presence,
And Your ministries.
River of Life,
I have eyes only for You.
You carry me,
And sweep along with me,
Making holy,
All those I hold dear.
Copyright 2014 Joann Nelander
Folly’s Zeal
Immodest child,
Immoderate man,
So, you think to slay dragons,
By wit and prowess,
Armed with nature’s sword.
You think it cruel
And mean-spirited,
That a “good” God
Choose to temper you,
By merciful humiliation.
He thwarts your inventions,
And plans of glory.
“All for God,” your dream,
Yet you are at the center,
With your well-chosen cross.
“Indiscreet zeal”
Immature man,
Undone by impatience,
Intemperance,
And swollen pride.
Each day God waits
Supplies the Way,
Plans a day
Filled to the brim
With humility’s simplicity.
Abandonment,
Acceptance,
Both arrow and bow,
To hit the mark
Marked out by Love.
copyright 2014 Joann Nelander
Acknowledgement:
In a chapter called, “Immature Zeal” Ralph Martin points out the effectiveness overtime of “ordinary grace” and “common life,” in his book, The Fulfillment of All Desires, a Guidebook to God Based on the Wisdom of the Saints.
Ralph quotes Sts. Teresa of Avila and Bernard to point out our folly in relying inordinately on ourselves to become holy and to do great things for God, both early in the spiritual life, and later on, when temptations are subtler.
Entombment
Mortal life of substance,
And ethereal,
As the matter of soul,
You are far spent,
In this night of human life,
That passes in a blink
Of the eye of God.
I have pulled you,
Limb from limb,
Not as the Savior’s travail
Upon the Cross,
But by sinning,
Brought death to my members.
I am dislocated,
In body and Time,
Knowing neither peace,
Nor the plenty
Of sweet communion,
The passages of Death
And the Lies,
Rising from the Pit,
And told to Man,
Threaten the life
Of God in me,
You, O mind and body,
Have been taken prisoner,
By the gods
I chose to serve.
Mercy speaks
Light to my darkness
And Grace
To my repentant will,
Love never ceases
Watching and waiting.
Mercy, I call to You,
You, Who call me forth,
And deliver me.
I turn my thoughts and pray
To the Fount of my being.
As a babe,
I return,
And from New Womb,
By faith believing,
I choose rebirth,
And am reborn.
My grave is a baptism
That reconnects my spirit
To my God..
Breath, bones and sinews
Sing a new song
Born of my Savior’s Grave.
Copyright 2014 Joann Nelander
Joann Nelander
lionessblog.com
Be Holy! 