Rosebud

 

Rose before dawn,
Nestled life in bud.
Sun of mother-love withdrawn.
Rose before dawn
Life, so sweet, soon gone.
Red flower, the color of blood.
Rose before dawn
Nestled life in bud.

Copyright Joann Nelander

Tough As Nails – Open Letter to God

We are willing to discard the person for the part.

“We’ve made great strides”,  “…a long way, Baby.”

You and Your creation shall serve us.

Yes, that is our “Way”.

It makes perfect sense to us.

After all, You are invisible,

As invisible as a child within the womb,

That is, until the flesh is torn away.

We have the technology.

See, no cringing here. “Just do it!”

We’re tough as nails.

You are familiar with nails?

Yes, tough as nails.

In this world you have to be!

Hello.  Knock, knock.  Are You there?

…. See, He doesn’t care.

You hold Your anger, so we say,

“Where is this God of yours?”.

Our world crumbles,

Chaos all around.

Evidence of Your absence or Your ire?

It doesn’t matter.

You are the Past. We are Now!

If I pull Your beard, will You awaken.

Are You like us?

Will You take a poll

Or turn Your blind eyes?

In Your retirement or death,

We’ve found our voice. We’ve found our fist!

Not to worry. We’ve come a long way.

Crowned ourselves God!

©2010 Joann Nelander

St.Peter’s Square–Blessing Animals of All Sorts

Who really died?

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As gift withdrawn,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,
Enfolded me.
Life ended
To begin again.
And I behold
The Face of God.
I live,
And still I wait for you,
Knowing in love,
And there is yet more.

Who really died?

©2013 Joann Nelander

When is the Argument Not Hypothetical

Pro-life…..Pro-choice…..Pro-life…..Pro-choice…..Pro-life…..Pro-choice…..Pro-life…..Pro-choice…..Pro-life…..Pro-choice…..Pro-life…..Pro-choice…..Pro-life…..Pro-choice…..Pro-life…..Pro-choice…..Pro-life…..Pro-choice…..Pro-life…..Pro-choice…..

Ready for the truth?   Google images: vacuum contents of abortion.

Must Read – Long before Becoming a Bishop

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:

Take My Hand

 

Take my hand , my Jesus.
Here I am, Your child,
Too small to stand on my own,
Yet welcome before Your throne.

It is, You, My Cause,
Who sets me upright,
Through and through,
To be like unto You.

All my life called,
And marked by Love Divine,
Under Your Shadow, sun shining above,
One command only, Love!

Who can love without You?
This, too, You supply.
You spend Your Life’s Blood
To draw me from mire and mud.

All from Adam
In human chain,
Hold hands to be set free,
Man from Sin in loving Thee.

Copyright 2013 Joann Nelander