Healing the Original Wound

“If you have loved and been loved in return, you have some idea of what the promise of eternal life is.  You can think a little of the love of God.  If you feel that you have been unloved or have not really loved, then you have a great hunger inside of you for the mysterious love of God.  In either case, you know something about the imperative need, the restlessness, the hunger that we all have to find love, unfailing love, in the brief reality we call our lives.”

Fr. Benedict J. Groeschel

Fr. Benedict J. Groeschel died recently after a long life of love and service.  I’ve asked him to be my spiritual director now that he has eternity to answer my questions. I’ll start small with his book.

Read a bit more  about Fr. Groeschel

Hildegard Von Bingen – Ave Maria, O Auctrix Vite

Hildegard von Bingen ~ O viridissima virga

Hildegard von Bingen – Ave generosa

Healing in the Heart of Jesus

Praying for my loved ones and remembering friends of youth and later life, I began to see how feelings of love welled up within me.  God’s love drew me close to Himself and bade me come away with Him.  I feared to leave off praying for friend after friend as they came to mind that I leave someone untouched by His Mercy and Grace.  Then He came closer still, and filled me now with peace and knowledge.  His Spirit whispered to my heart, “Fear not!”  He gave me to understand that all these, that I recalled and cherished, all these, I held in my heart and rediscovered with each rising memory, all these were enclosed within my very being, held fast by my love.  As His arms embraced me in my prayer to draw me closer, the prayer of my heart for all of these sounded in His ears.  For love of me, wretched sinner though I be, He enfolded Luke17_16_LeperWhoThankedHimall within His bosom, loving purely and eternally the image of His Son emblazoned upon my soul.  He drew all to Himself, knowing, gracing and blessing.  He knew them as I knew them of old and also as He finds them now, in the flesh or in the spirit.  His grace is fresh and waters the ground of their present.  He opens a loving wound in them that invites His love and healing.

Love’s Mansion

A child lost,
A child stolen,
A child abandoned,
But not by Love.

Love held his hand,
As Death pursued.
Love clutched his life
To hold him in her heart.

When all doors shut,
When clouds descended,
When law conspired,
When men called evil good.

Love shared his pain.
Love healed.
Love fostered love.
Prepared a home.

Love opened the earth
To receive the blood
Of innocence,
Once more.

Love found a way,
To thwart the grave,
To forgive, to forget,
To encompass and enfold.

Love builds a mansion
With waiting rooms,
For mother, father
And lineage long.

From Adam past
Unto blessed Eternity,
Love reclaims,
Love invites to Mercy feast.

Love simply loves,
Sinner, martyr, saint,
The lost, the stolen, the abandoned,
Now espoused.

© 2012 Joann Nelander

Beyond Tears

I just want to rest here,
In a place beyond tears.
When You see me,
In my life’s blood,
You will not pass me by.

Shepherd,
That you are,
Lift me to Your shoulder.
Carry me
The rest of the way.

I consent to Your ministries,
Trust in Your mercies.
As Your strong arms
Enfold me.

I am comfort,
Through and through,
For I will to be
One with You,
And You have given me
My heart’s desire.

Bath Waters

Heavenly Mother,
It is told,
You allowed a leper babe,
To be washed in your Baby’s bath,
And, immediately, the infant was healed,
His skin, supple and pink,
By an act of God,
A miraculous gift.

Plunge those forgotten in life,
Into that water of refreshment,
In which, to remove the dust of the world,
You bathed your Babe.

It is God, Who hears,
The cry of the poor.
God, Who, is not far off.
He sent His Christ,
To enter that sea,
The Jordan of Man’s Sin.

One day, it’s waters
Would wash the multitudes,
And it’s streams
Flow over the Ages.

God, indeed, hears
The cry of the poor,
As He heard the wail
Of the leper babe.

“This is my beloved Son.”,
He announces in loving unity,
As an open invitation for us to enter in,
And lay our claim in holy hope.

Mother, do for the disabled,
What they cannot
Do for themselves.
Meet us in our leprosy,
And, bathing us, say
With the Father,
“This is my son,
In whom I am well pleased.”

© 2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved

Passion of a Warrior

When did his passion begin?
Did it commence with the kiss
By which he bid his loved ones adieu.
Or did the call to battle
Bid him count the cost,
Shattering vanities and proud hoorahs,
With winter ice
Though veins,
Piercing to the marrow of bone.

The Call was always greater
Than one man’s valor or presumption.
Holier than Adam could undertake in rage,
Yet a young David found an “Amen”
Rising within his shepherd- breast,
Shielded by hope and faith
Born of a Savior,
Yet borne into battle
By the foal that carried Him forth.

All battles,
Waged for the souls of men,
Find common ground;
Friend and foe,
Dying side by side.
As grains numbered as the sand,
And the blood,
Bridle high at Armageddon,
Corpses piled and claiming
The best among us,
As generations of spent warriors’ might,
Trust to God
To judge the heart of every man,
And wear his colors in His raiment.

Memories, born as festering wounds,
Or toughened scars,
Mark the man and record the Passion.
No jot or tiddle forgotten,
Fingered on the ground,
Condemning only the Accurser.

Angels minister the balm of Gilead
As the dead live again,
And the living love
Through the Darkness.
Mended hearts,
Held to a measure,
Weighed on scales of Mercy.
Are blessed.
None forgotten,
All forgiven.

How long? How long?
Martyrs witness the passion of the warrior,
And place merited crown,
And victor’s wreathe,
As a new name resounds,
Pronounced by the Mouth of God.

©2012 Joann Nelander
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