by Rebecca Hamilton
Why, after all these decades, hasn’t Planned Parenthood already been defunded? If pro-life politicians really mean it, why haven’t they done it?
Read more:What Every Pro-lifer Needs to Know About the Senate and Planned Parenthood
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All posts for the month July, 2015
“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 flood waters of heaven
Pour over me.
Your Death holds me fast,
Drawing body and soul,
Down in Your Dying.
Flood gates open,
And yet, the sea parts.
By Your Spirit I pass over.
The soul that gives life to my body,
Now rises,
Your Spirit, giving Life to my soul.
More than a corpse
Raised from the dead,
I rise a priest, a prophet and a king,
Betrothed and free to be
What You would make of me.
copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
Consider the multitudes,
Throng upon throng,
Gathered across Europe,
Arm in arm.
Regard the throng,
Witness of flesh,
Standing tall,
Staring down terror and the terrible,
Arm in Arm.
A proclamation for peace,
For life, for freedom,
In the aftermath of death,
To face the future,
Arm in arm.
A call to arms:
Arms to embrace,
Arms to hold dear,
Arms to forge, in heart-felt resolve,
In the furnace of trial, tears and tragedy,
An alliance of hope,
Arm in arm.
Copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
Here comes today.
Come with me, all holy Angels,
As I set foot on a new day.
I take to the pilgrim’s road,
Looking to heaven,
I find God with me,
And I adore.
With kisses of thanksgiving,
With the beating of my heart,
With every breath I draw,
I am all prayer.
Life proclaims the Living God.
My life, a humble echo,
Of the Voice of God,
Resounding in thanksgiving
Sings praise to the Holy I Am,
A kiss for the Holy Trinity,
Who fashioned my humanity
In flesh and blood and bone.
A kiss, too, for my human soul,
That enlivens this lowly form.
A kiss, O Holy Spirit,
For the Indwelling,
That gifted my soul with Your Life,
That I way walk with You
All the Way to Heaven.
My footprints testify to my presence
With steps planted on earth
While my being witnesses the praise I sing
As I stand on heavenly turf.
Here is today,
Another day to bear fruit
Fit for a holy Eternity,
In the Name of the Father,
With the Breathe of the Spirit
In the Heart of the Son.
Copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
Joann Nelander
lionessblog.com
I miss them.
I miss them all.
The years have flung them about,
Scattered them to the four winds
With little care,
And less a say.
My friends, not here,
But there,
And everywhere.
So hard to hold,
Though near, in heart,
But, oh, so very far apart.
So very dear!
I want them,
Here.
copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
Pray,
Take care
Who you turn away.
Give thought,
And ‘haps a listening ear.
In truth,
The heart of God
Beats in the beggars breast.
copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
What did they say?
The men that came, then went their way.
Seeking the One all people long to see,
They left their hearths, these Wise Men Three.
“Where is He?”; the question echoes through ages long.
As He seeks a home ‘mong busy throng.
We prayed, sang and offered gifts beneath a tree.
Because He’s come for hearts, He’s come for me.
Where is He of blessed event,
Now the festive limbs are spent?
Has He found a hearth to call a throne?
Has He your heart to be His own?
©2015 Joann Nelander
While St. Gertrude was offering a certain action to God, saying:
O Lord, I offer Thee this work through Thine Only Son, in the power of the Holy Spirit, to the praise of Thine eternal Majesty; it was revealed to her that whatever action was thus offered would acquire a worth and acceptableness to God beyond all human comprehension. For as all things appear to be green when seen through a green glass, so whatever is offered to God through His Only-begotten Son cannot be otherwise than most precious and pleasing in His sight.
That you may understand how useful it is to offer all your works to God, listen to what our Lord said on one occasion to St. Gertrude: All thy works are most perfectly pleasing to Me. And as she could not believe this, He added: If you held in your hand some object which you had the means and the skill to render perfectly pleasing to everyone, and if you tenderly loved that object, would you neglect to adorn it? Even thus, because you are accustomed to offer all your works to Me, I hold them in My hand; and as I have both the power and the skill, My love rejoiceth to cleanse and perfect them all, that they may be most perfectly pleasing in My sight.
Joann Nelanderlionessblog.com
Joann Nelander Studio 