DIVINE MERCY NOVENA via PrayerMoreNovenas.com
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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
How great is the distance between us?
Some would say
The span from East to West,
Or measure in miles the chasm
Stretching from Heaven to Hell.
Others count the centuries
Since Your earthly Presence
In hallowed flesh.
There is no numbering
Eternity or Divinity.
You are closer than my breath.
Your Heart beats within my breast.
Day by day,
Nay, moment by moment,
I pick up Your rhythm.
Traversing the breech,
You make me Your own.
Small, but beloved,
I repose in willful abandonment.
Grace-filled faith,
A movement,
Not a measure,
Soars to the heavens,
In flights of trust in You.
Who really died?
I never saw
The light of day.
Black descended,
Of a kind
I knew not,
And then no more....
How did I know you?
All I knew was you.
You flavored my becoming,
Your genes, my genes,
Your feelings,
Emotional rhythms,
Touching me
By blood connection.
All this,
And then no more.....
How did I feel you?
Warmth, gentle rocking
To and fro.
I felt you,
Heart-sounds
Surrounding me,
Pressing me,
Impressing me.
You whooshed at times
And hummed.
And then no more.....
How did I leave you?
I knew anguish
As once I knew you,
Your blood feeding mine,
I knew as parting,
Leaving behind mother
As gift withdrawn,
And bid goodbye.
Too young for endings,
Too soon to die,
And then no more.....
How now and by and by?
Sorrow and black
And then the Light.
New Day, as womb,
Enfolding me.
Life ending
Beginning yet again.
And I behold
The Face of God.
I live,
Knowing Love,
Yet still,
I wait for you.
Eternity has a door,
God knocks from His side,
I listen for you.
Pray but open the latch.
That you might die no more,
And free from sin,
Enter in.
There is yet more.
Who really died that day?
Sing Lord
To make of me a song
Rising on the wind
Spreading throughout the land.
By the movement of Your tune
I proclaim Your Love.
By the rushing of Your Spirit
Borne anew on hallowed wings,
I announce the Year of Favor.
Proclaim
Reclaim. Reclaim.
Reclaim Your own.
Seat sons and daughters
Of Your Love
Upon Your Heart
On Mercy throne.
© 2013 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved
Published on Feb 5, 2013
"Dear children; Love is bringing me to you -- the love which I desire to teach you also -- real love; the love which my Son showed you when He died on the Cross out of love for you; the love which is always ready to forgive and to ask for forgiveness. How great is your love? My Motherly heart is sorrowful as it searches for love in your hearts. You are not ready to submit your will to God's will out of love. You cannot help me to have those who have not come to know God's love to come to know it, because you do not have real love. Consecrate your hearts to me and I will lead you. I will teach you to forgive, to love your enemies and to live according to my Son. Do not be afraid for yourselves. In afflictions my Son does not forget those who love. I will be beside you. I will implore the Heavenly Father for the light of eternal truth and love to illuminate you. Pray for your shepherds so that through your fasting and prayer they can lead you in love. Thank you."
This painting is so consoling, I just have to share it again since Advent brings us closer and closer to the precious moment of our Savior’s birth. He comes to save Fallen Man, and with such a gentle hand.
"Virgin Mary Consoles Eve"
Crayon and pencil by Sr. Grace Remington, OCSO
Copyright 2005, Sisters of the Mississippi Abbey
ARCHBISHOP AQUILA: 40 Years of the Culture of Death
Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,
I went to college in 1968 with the idea of becoming a doctor, like my father. College campuses in the late ‘60’s and throughout the 70’s were places of turmoil. I didn’t practice my faith much in the first three years of college and I certainly never imagined that the Lord would one day make me a bishop.
I spent my first three years of college working as a hospital orderly and assisting in the emergency room, at a university student health center and in a hospital in California during summer break.
When I began the job, I hadn’t thought much about human suffering, or about human dignity.
But during my employment in hospitals, something changed. At that time, some states had approved abortion laws that I wasn’t even aware of. Because of those laws, when I was in college I witnessed the results of two abortions.
The first was in a surgical unit. I walked into an outer room and in the sink, unattended, was the body of small unborn child who had been aborted. I remember being stunned. I remember thinking that I had to baptize that child.
The second abortion was more shocking. A young woman came into the emergency room screaming. She explained that she had had an abortion already. When the doctor sent her home, he told her she would pass the remains naturally. She was bleeding as the doctor, her boyfriend, the nurse and I placed her on a table.
I held a basin as the doctor retrieved a tiny arm, a tiny leg and then the rest of the broken body of a tiny unborn child. I was shocked. I was saddened for the mother and child, for the doctor and the nurse. None of us would have participated in such a thing were it not an emergency. I witnessed a tiny human being destroyed by violence.
The memory haunts me. I will never forget that I stood witness to acts of unspeakable brutality. In the abortions I witnessed, powerful people made decisions that ended the lives of small, powerless, children. Through lies and manipulation, children were seen as objects. Women and families were convinced that ending a life would be painless, and forgettable. Experts made seemingly convincing arguments that the unborn were not people at all, that they could not feel pain, and were better off dead. Read more:
January 19, 2013 By The Crescat
… With the upcoming March For Life, the topic of abortion seems to be every where at the moment. Because of this it’s been on my mind daily. Perhaps these daily reminders is what triggered the event that happened this morning.
My first waking thought hit me like a sledge hammer and I was instantly transported back ten years. I was standing alone in a sterile room wearing a hospital gown. In my hand was the sheet that I had pulled back off the portable suction machine that sat in the corner. Memories I thought I had drown bubbled up despite mentally wrestling with myself for years to un-see them.
What I am about to write next is horrifically graphic. I’d been debating with myself all day whether or not I should share this memory or just stuff it back down in the murky recesses of my addled brain but then I was reminded of something Elizabeth Scalia wrote.
And somehow, I can’t imagine that any of our elite female voices — the ones who, in every election year, can be counted on to take up the fake “war on women” mantras and tape PSA’s about “keeping abortion legal” because it “empowers women” — have any sense of the realities of these under-inspected, under-reported hell-holes, where the only ones being empowered are the profiteers.
And a hell hole it was. There is no way to advocate what I am about to describe. None. There is no reason, no exception, no situation in which what I saw could possibly be rationalized away as a “reproductive right” or an acceptable choice.
**** If you’re post-abortive what you are about to read might be too graphic and upsetting.****
I encourage you only to proceed with great caution. Please know I don’t write this to cause you any pain. I write this post so that people who advocate abortion can read what it is exactly they are advocating.
The vacuum. Read the rest here
Today marks the beginning of the 9 Days of Prayer, Penance and Pilgrimage sponsored by USCCB.
From Your Cross
You looked upon Man
Your eyes were blinded
By Your Own Blood.
You could not even wipe
That Blood away,
For bound to a Cross,
Your Hands were held fast
To the mysterious Will
Of Your Father.
In Your Bloody Blindness,
You felt the anguish of rejection,
The rejection of Your People,
The rejection of the kings of the Earth,
The rejection of the once adoring crowds,
The rejection of cowardly friends,
Rejection of High Priests of Covenant Old,
And the rejection of disciples,
Destined to proclaim the New,
Alone,
Save for the Mother,
The Beloved Disciple
At her side,
And the repentant Magdalene,
Who knew both Sin
And deliverance at Your Hand.
From Your Cross
Look upon me.
See with Your heart
To forgive my Sin.
Draw me by way
Of the Blood and Water
Flowing from Your Pierced Side.
Wash away my Sin
In that Holy Tide,
That the Mysterious Will
Of Your Father
Give life to yet another son.
Thy will be done.
©2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved
The merciful Hand of the Lord
Is upon me.
It is a fearful thing
To fall into the Hand
Of the Living God
He metes out judgment,
And punishment due.
Why then, do I lift my voice
In praise and thanksgiving?
In an instant,
I saw my desert.
Fear and trembling seized me,
As my mercy-cry
Pierced the darkness.
Caught in my descent,
His Hand reached
Into my Hell.
It is in my nature to fall,
In His nature
To show mercy.
His end is my good.
Even in judgment,
Mercy shows His Face.
Punished, I am now free.
Seeing His mercy
In His rendering of scourge,
I trust,
As once I feared to do.
May His Hand always
Be upon me,
As fear of the Lord,
Befriends me.
©2012 Joann Nelander All rights reserved
I can only clean up your dirt,
If you give it to me.
Is it pride that stands in your way?
Think, then, of the filth in which you wallow.
Being prostrate in repentance,
Is in reality a rising,
A lifting of your head,
A step up, my man!
Really now, how proud can a man be,
Who is chained to his sin,
A slave in bondage to habit,
Following the crowd?
Mire and muck,
What trappings are these,
But for a prince of fools?
Fall on your knees to stand up!
Copyright Joann Nelander © 2011 All rights reserved