Wake the Heavens

Wake the Heavens

Peoples of the Earth,
This hour beseeches you.
Rise from your slumber,
Shake off the demons of sloth.
Open your eyes,
Lift the veil that hides your sin.

Peoples of the Earth,
The dead beseech you.
The living call out.
The blind place their hands upon your arm.
Truth is at the door.
Open and receive.

Peoples of the Earth,
Hope for the good,
The holy, and the hallowed.
Take off your rags,
Don a wedding garment.
That you may feast and dance.

Peoples of the Earth,
Seek the Kingdom of the Great King.
He rains down blessing from above,
He calls saints,
And angels to your side,
For Victory in His Name.

Peoples of the Earth.
A New Day beckons you.
Gather the lame, and the hungry,
Those that hope for Victory beseech you.
Jesus awaits your plaintive cries
To wake the heavens.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

Hope’s Longing

Hope’s Longing

I find you in tears.
I find you in longing.
I find you covered in the news of the day,
Lying in the cold,
Under the blanket of the night,
Under heaven’s gaze.

Who wipes your tears?
Who comforts and consoles?
Who sees you in your many disguises,
Crying in the child,
Laughing with young,
Smiling down from Heaven?

Give me eyes to see through the tears.
Give me a heart to feel hope beyond sorrow.
Give me the shelter of your company.
Here in the Now,
I find You sweet within me
Promising Forever.

©2015 Joann Nelander

Sun Upon a Meadow

Sun Upon a Meadow

Sitting in the sunshine of Your Love,
I lift my heart,
That elevated by caring Angels,
As the arms of Moses by Aaron and Hur,
The battle for my soul,
May be won by grace.

Bathed in the perpetual rays of Mercy,
Streaming from Your Sacred Heart,
Held aloft in holy prayer,
With the memory,
And succor of Mother Mary,
I radiate all that I receive.

Source and summit of my being,
Deem to vouchsafe,
In gracious condescension,
The Image of Your Jesus,
Here to hallow, hold and share,
As Sun upon a meadow.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

Keep Praying

Refuge of Sinners

Not Me But Thee

Lord, as I begin this day,
Have it Your way.
I seek not me, but Thee.

When bitter valley threaten,
And I count the cost,
I choose not me, but Thee.

In the dark night.
Trace Your path upon my heart,
That demons, seeking to terrorize and tempt,
Meet not me, but Thee.

When gift and labor
Bring merit and reward,
All glory to, not me, but Thee.

O Lord,
May those I meet upon Your Way,
See, not me, but Thee.

© 2014 Joann Nelander

Father, Forever

“Father forgive them they know not what they do.”

Cords of sorrow draw me.
I am witness to the plight,
Man become beast,
Without wisdom or wit,
Licking his own blood,
Hungry, harrowed,
Stunned in horror.

The knots of revenge entangle,
Cry for evermore blood,
Ever more abasement,
Ever more widows,
Ever more orphans,
Ever more refuse and waste.

A crying child becomes hundreds,
Then thousands,
Then millions,
Left to wander,
Left to dissipate and hate.

Vengeance is sweeter than food,
To one who chooses to live
Without Love,
Without Light,
Without the Holy and the True,
For such is the abode of Sin,
And many the roads
Leading to its gate.

Bestial brutality,
Raging insanity,
Now reigns the malignant.
The disconsolate refuse all solace,
Wounds of the heart,
Wounds of the mind,
Wounds of the body of Man.

Look to the high mountain,
Eyes to the heavens,
Wake the long dead,
Who await the promised Banquet,
Those, who now know,
They are one Family of Man,
Divested of tribal allegiance,
Awaiting the One,
And coming, King.

Offer a sacrifice of prayer.
Pour forth the balm of Gilead.
Speak, in the tongue of angels,
The comfort of peoples,
Hope in the Darkness.

Humanity’s ties are stronger than its sins,
More numerous than the cords
That draw it down in the Dark Night.
For its One God
Is Father Forever.

The Crusades and the Political Misuse of History

The Crusades and the Political Misuse of History

Choice

Given a choice,
Give me grace
That I might choose
Your Holy Will.

by Joann Nelander

One Last Touch

Lord, You have been growing me.
It’s been 75 years plus a bit, since my conception.
All those years and not one day without love.

Not one day without the play of wind,
Or warmth of golden beam,
Or sustenance given though unseen.

Not one day without a kiss of sun,
Or breeze,
Or butterfly.

Not one day the more or less than You decree,
Simply the glee
Of being me.

Lord, You have been growing me.
I count my days blessed and witnessed from above,
The stuff as given and mysterious as stars.

When I am fully grown,
Incline to lift me from the earth,
And with Mercy’s parting splendor,
Render one last touch.

© 2016 Joann Nelander

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