Prayer is the fuel
That lights the world on fire
With faith.
Prayer is the fuel
That lights the world on fire
With hope.
Prayer is the fuel
That lights the world on fire
With love.
Prayer is the fuel
That lights the world on fire
In the New Evangelization.
The more I grasp,
The more the stars
Slip through my fingers;
But the more I surrender,
The more the stars shine,
Reflecting the Light.
A HOUSE BUILT ON ROCK
A humble home was built
On a foundation of faith,
In the Town of Trust,
In the Province of Prudence,
On the rugged rock of
Divine Mercy:
The wild waves awoke
Like ferocious beasts
And beat against the
Formidable fortress,
Banging with watery fists,
But all to no avail --
Nothing could harm
This holy house of Love.
A HOUSE BUILT ON SAND
A castle of carousing was built
On a lazy beach in
The City of Cool,
In the Province of Popular,
On the slippery sand of
Fragile fear:
Then, a voracious
Tidal wave of temptation
Hungrily devoured the castle,
And a furious flood
Of thick red blood
Poured out in torrents,
Turning the green one red.
A Variation of Shakespeare’s Famous Soliloquy
The Child
To be
Or not to be,
That is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler
For Mommy to surrender
To the slings and arrows
Of sacrificial love,
Or by aborting,
End me.
The Mother
To die from guilt while
contemplating abortion:
To sleep, to sleep
No more!
Perchance to have dreams --
Or eternal nightmares --
Of what I am about to do
To my innocent baby;
When I have shuffled off
The mortal coil of his
Umbilical cord and
Allowed him to be
Dis mem ber ed,
I dread something worse
Than death: Hell,
The undiscovered country;
Thus, conscience can make
Heroes of us all --
Soft you now,
It’s never too late,
So my fair baby shall live.
Powerful and impressive and majestic,
The Sun’s luminous rays reach out
Towards the distant outer rim,
Where the darkness is pervasive,
And where evil breeds in the
Black cloud of never-ending night.
Disappointed and disillusioned,
In the dark night of discontent,
Sad souls long to fill the void
Of the black hole in their hearts,
So they search for truth and beauty
At the center of the universe.
Patient and gentle and merciful,
The Son’s compassionate glance
Seeks souls empty and broken,
And they are attracted by the
Gravitational pull of His goodness,
And the ecstasy of His eternal love.
We must avoid the
stale cookies of selfishness,
for they crumble
into complaints;
but with the Eucharistic
bread of thanksgiving,
we can then live like
the holy saints.
Inspired by the writing of St. Francis de Sales
Why are trifles
So important to us?
What’s really all
The big fuss?
They can often
Infatuate our hearts,
Slowly infecting us,
Like poison darts.
Our desire subtly
Grows and grows,
As we are gradually
Mastered by our foes.
Trifles can turn into treasures,
And treasures into troubles.
When liberty is
divorced from responsibility,
it dreadfully descends in a
dizzying death spiral of
selfishness.
But when liberty
is married to responsibility,
it courageously spirals upward
in a heroic flight of
freedom.
You are a simple shepherd,
A poor Franciscan in the
True spirit of Father Francis,
Your respect for the Eucharist
Is profoundly beautiful,
For when the church bell rings —
No matter where you are
At that particular moment —
You cannot help but fall,
Fall to your knees in love,
Oh so madly in love,
With the Good Shepherd.
Like an aggressive squadron of
Enemy fighter jets, a flurry of
Problems is rapidly approaching
My sector in attack formation;
In my anxiety I am tempted to take
Them on all at once, but, instead,
I veer off to the right and one breaks
Off from the pack and follows me;
I take my adversary into the Light
And he is utterly blinded by it, so
I launch the missiles of patience
And love until he is destroyed;
One by one, I do the same with
The other challenges until, finally,
The spiritual airspace is clear, then
I praise the King of the Universe.
We all deserve execution,
To be nailed on a cross of wood,
We all deserve exile in hell,
For only God is purely good;
He chose to take our place in death,
Bloodily stabbed into the tree,
He paid the price to rescue us,
For only He can set us free.
Pride is a black dragon that tries
To kindle our sinful souls with
The flaming fires of falsehood,
Causing our egos to swell with
The helium of haughtiness;
But thanksgiving is a weapon,
A weapon of heavenly wonder,
Used by the Holy Family when
There was arrogance in the air;
So when we are praised for some
Fine worldly accomplishment,
Then we too should turn to the
Lord God, and, with a little smile,
We should frequently thank Him
For each of His gracious gifts,
And seeing our happy hearts filled
To the brim with gratitude, behold,
The devil dragon flees in terror.
At the Last Supper,
Judas left you.
He betrayed you.
But don’t we
Betray you too? --
When we make excuses,
And skip the prayers,
And skip the masses,
And skip the Eucharist?
For then we are falling,
Down, down, down,
Headlong towards
The open-throated
Abyss of doom
Which vomits forth
The flames of folly.
Instead, let us
Return to Him,
Our Father of Love,
To make a fresh
New start to our
Broken lives,
Let us fall
To our knees
And surrender to Him,
Let us fall
Into His loving arms
And embrace Him,
Let us fall,
Fall in love with Him,
Down in adoration falling.
O heavenly Star,
I am living in the dark night
Of unknowing,
Searching for peace in uncertainty.
O Lighthouse in the sky,
I am living in the dark night
Of the unseen,
Trying so hard to die to myself.
With your beacon of light,
You scatter my enemies,
Coming to my aid,
Embracing me with love.
I rejoice in the source
Of your most powerful light,
Christ the Courageous,
Your only Sun.
Mother Most Chaste, I will always love
You as my generous, gentle guide;
Our Father in Heaven has healed my
Troubled heart through your holy hands.
I honor you, Jesus’ happy helper, who
Wishes to bring harmony into my life;
Dear amiable advocate, pray that your
Son will strengthen me against evil.
Let me sip of the cool refreshment
Of your spouse, the Holy Spirit;
As the Messiah’s mother, you teach me
The path that leads to total truth.
Marvelous Madonnina, let your dulcet
Voice rise to God on our behalf;
Please petition His Divine Majesty, that
He may annihilate all affection for sin.
Mother of Divine Grace, ever so kindly
Preserve me in humble piety and patience;
Ask the gentle Jesus to pour upon me
His heavenly hope and gladdening grace.
You merit praise for being a perfect mirror,
Reflecting His merciful compassion;
Because of you, divine favors fall upon me
Like starry raindrops from the sky.
I am a little candle in the cave, and the
Birth of the blessed Babe is mystical to me;
Pray that your sovereign Son will help me
To be single-hearted in the Spirit.
The Timeless One is triumphantly shoehorned
Into Time, and He totally transfigures it;
Guide me and show me how to live in the
Eternal present of the loving Lamb.
Mother of Christ, you are the treasured
Tabernacle of the Most High;
The brilliant Sun magnificently shines
Forth from you in spiritual direction.
Pray that we may be poor in spirit,
Surrendering to Christ the Compassionate;
Pray that we may be pure in heart,
Like the precious Poverello of Assisi.
Your luminous light-brown hair cascades
Over your shoulders like a waterfall;
Your radiant smile lights up my soul,
As I hold your soft, gentle hand.
You lead me in His holy footsteps, showing
Me the short way, the easy way, to Jesus;
From the depths of my soul I love you,
My Heavenly guide, my darling friend.
Holy Virgin of Virgins, the foolish enemy
Feverishly and frantically pursues me;
Bravely brandish the sword of the Spirit,
And courageously cut him down.
Scatter his seditious stratagems, and
Utterly destroy his devilish plans;
Through your lovely, delicate hands,
May my prayers arise to Jesus’ throne.
The humble beauty of your sweet smile
Eclipses the light of both sun and moon;
Your pristine prayers for me perfume
Highest Heaven with the fragrance of roses.
Ask the Father to teach me truth: that holy
Devotion is possible in any profession;
Quiet queen, ignite the little candle
Of my heart with the fire of compassion.
Dedicated to my Delightful Daughter
The long, arduous journey
was finally over,
More challenging than going
from London to Dover;
Clarissa Candela opened
her deep, dark eyes,
She got out of bed not
expecting any surprise;
For the last 33 days it’s been
a time for new prayers,
Almost like climbing a beautiful
resort’s elegant stairs;
Going upward towards God
in an imperceptible way,
She didn’t notice any spiritual growth
when she knelt down to pray.
As the beacon of dawn
gradually conquered the night,
The sinful, fearful darkness
was very quickly put to flight;
The angels unfurled the banner
of God’s light across the sky,
As on the freeway Clarissa
calmly drove in the desert so dry;
Her pilgrimage was to the beauteous
chapel of Our Lady of Solitude,
And since she could see the cupola,
her arrival was a certitude;
With holy sunbeams striking a
stained glass window from afar,
The chapel looked like a lighthouse
reflecting Bethlehem’s star.
Clarissa got out of her car, and a
sweet smile danced across her lips,
Her long, dark hair through the comforting
breeze ever so gently whips;
Looking at the chapel, she saw arches
and columns in a style European,
The dappled desert stone, rustically
elegant, made it look Galilean;
The cupola, topped with a simple cross,
was Our Lady’s jeweled crown,
And the t-shaped tau on the gable
declared good St. Francis’ renown;
Clarissa looked up, twirled around,
and saw an immense sky so blue,
She had never seen such beauty clothed
in such peace, ‘tis so very true.
Then she entered the chapel
experiencing a spiritual thirst,
Truly there were not many people
at mass on this January First;
Their few voices were humbly and
quietly raised almost inaudibly aloft,
And the Franciscan priest said mass
in a voice that was very, very soft;
The devout Poor Clare nuns were
all engaged in the deepest prayer,
And, honestly, the mass was so silent
that it was exceedingly rare;
When Clarissa’s 33 days of prayers
of consecration were finally done,
Might she be in danger of ending
as uneventfully as she had begun?
But St. Louis de Montfort’s
Consecration to Jesus through Mary,
Was recommended by her wise old
Irish pastor Monsignor O’Clary;
He had preached quite a fine homily
about this special devotion,
Saying, “It can really change your life,
if you have the notion”;
But now let me share with you
one rather noteworthy fact,
St. Louis’ closing prayer is
really a form of holy contract;
She knelt before Our Lord’s
beautiful crucifix near the altar,
And she dearly hoped that her
heart would not ever falter.
Midway through this closing prayer,
Clarissa’s heart was passionately,
Preciously pierced by the sweet sword
of the Spirit; her soul, suddenly
Brimming with God’s majestic mercy,
soared in a spiraling celestial
Crescendo of God’s love for her;
fearing that her heart, like a fiery
Supernova, might explode with emotion,
she silently slipped out
And sat quietly, alone, on the sofa
located in the pilgrims' parlor;
Here she serenely surrendered all
to the Spirit, like a noble
Knight of Christ, Through Our Lady,
The Queen of All Hearts.
Then like a giddy geyser she gushed
torrents of light-hearted laughter
And happy, heavenly tears; this golden
cascade of pure love poured
Over her soul like a warm, wonderful
waterfall of holy honey; deep down
Inside, the Spirit was strumming on
the harmonic harp of her heart, and
She was deliciously, delightfully deluged
by this overwhelming ocean of God’s love for her.
Afterwards, Clarissa softly strolled
back into the chapel to finish her
Closing prayer; approaching the altar,
with awe, she beheld the crucifix
Where Christ the Courageous heroically
hangs; from the back of the church
She felt his love as a light, blissful,
balmy breeze; but as she
Drew closer to that crucifix, she felt
His love magnificently magnified as it
Ignited into an intense, surging storm
of explosive, electric joy;
Kneeling before that same crucifix,
as a bold, brave warrior, she battled
Through her emotions until
word by word, slowly,
Meaningfully, she finished
her prayer of consecration.
Every year for the rest of her life
this holy devotion she would pray,
She would always return to Our Lady
of Solitude on the very same day;
Just as Our Lady had very few truly
remarkable days in her saintly life,
Clarissa had few days in which intense
joy pierced her soul like a knife;
Although she never again experienced
a cascading heavenly waterfall,
Every so often a raindrop of pure,
holy love her heart would enthrall;
In the twinkling of an eye the sword
of the Spirit would pierce her soul,
As if to remind her that perfect love
in Heaven must always be her goal.
Heavenly Queen, God’s flaming fire
Blazed in the bush on Mt. Horeb;
Similarly, the Spirit gloriously glows
Like a candle as baby Jesus is conceived.
His Divine Majesty fills you bountifully
With the finest of all fruits;
More valuable than millions of mountains
Of glistening gold nuggets.
As the beautiful Babe is born, the Light
Of the world shines forth in a remarkable way;
In heavenly humility, the sweet Savior
Shines as the miraculous Morning Star.
Modest, mild Mother of God, you are
A precious, priceless pearl of purity;
Pray that, like you, I may find rest on
The ineffable, indelible isle of innocence.