Weaned Child

I am the weaned child,
Upon Your knee.
Forgetful of time,
I curl Your hair about my fingers,
And tug at Your heartstrings.

My toys, the shiny objects of yesterday,
Lie by the stairs,
By which I began my ascent to You.

Comfort me.
Cuddle me.
Tickle me.

You spend Your universe,
As You had always planned,
Delighting one so small,
The least of the Children of Man.

© 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.

Sunday Snippets–A Catholic Carnival

RAnn of This That and the Other Thing hosts Sunday Snippets–A Catholic Carnival, a group of Catholic bloggers who gather weekly to share posts of interest to Catholic bloggers. Join the fun by visiting This That and the Other Thing and creating your own link as RAnn directs.

This weeks efforts:

Weaned Child

I am the weaned child,
Upon Your knee.
Forgetful of time,
I curl Your hair about my fingers,
And tug at Your heartstrings.

My toys, the shiny objects of yesterday,
Lie by the stairs,
By which I began my ascent to You.

Comfort me.
Cuddle me.
Tickle me.

You spend Your universe,
As You had always planned,
Delighting one so small,
The least of the Children of Man.

© 2012 Joann Nelander

Yesterday

Yesterday I was a child
My world stopped at the garden gate.
You were presence, comfort,
And promise of tomorrow.

© 2011 Joann Nelander

A Thousand Little Moments

"Praying Hands" (study for an Apostl...

Image via Wikipedia

I fail and I fall.
“Yes, Father, it’s me, again.”
My prayers and tears reach Your heart with plaintiff sighs.

I reach for Love, as a baby grasps the finger,
securing You to my heart,
binding You by trifles.
A thousand little moments, like a knitter’s weave,
trivial triumphs conquering like souls,
for made in Your image, I desire only You.

Of wooing, my begging be a part.
I turn, my God, to You as a prayer with every care.
Prayer and tears, now, all one.
I nestle to Your breast and am all ear.

I listen as beat upon beat,
Love’s rhythm reassures me of the next
and of Your eternal constancy.
I listen, as for a whisper, and fear not
to whisper every care and fretful prayer.

I reach for You with every breath,
and sigh when You draw nigh.
You answer with a mother’s warmth,
bending low, picking me up, pressing me
to Your great and consoling bosom.

“What is it my child. Am I not here? Haven’t I given you all?”
You kiss away my tears
and delight in the exchange.
I have given nothing but complaint,
yet You are full of smiles.

A thousand little moments knit our day.
I cry and You comfort.
I beckon and You bend in kind regard.

You draw me into that chamber,
in which I was formed,
that hallowed space,
in which my time began.

Heaven and rest contained
in one all holy Name.
Name me, my God,
and I will come into being,
called forth from my darkness
into Your marvelous Day.

All our moments measured by Your mercy,
I cry out for a heart made unto Your own,
that I may grow to give Your Love.
Love begetting love, for love alone.

By Joann Nelander

The Hollow of Your Hand

The Hollow of Your Hand

Hollow in the palm of Your hand,
See me here, a child hiding in this darkness, Which is All Light and All Truth.
The brightness of Your Sun has blinded me.
I grasp Your hand and cling to You, my Three, my One.

Bright Angel announce your Truth in my soul.
Let me not fear the shadows,
But find all things awakening anew my confidence in You,
O Truth and Trusted One.

Reign. God of my heart;
I have sought You moment by moment,
Day after day.
Holy Solace, wrap me as in petals.
Heart of healing, open in the warmth of a new and holy day,
The Lord makes new day, Day of the Lord.

No fear here, all comfort, all strength, all joy.
I have become a child in the palm of Your hand, Ever resting, ever secure, O Holy Love,
To You abandoned, to You promised, to You wed.

By Joann Nelander