Gentle St. Mother Teresa
Said that Jesus came to her
In the distressing disguise
Of the poorest of the poor,
And, of course, she was right;
However, is it possible that
Jesus also comes to us
in the distressing disguise
Of the inconvenient,
Of the unexpected,
Of the cross?
I’m nothing more than
a hole in the ground,
and nobody notices me,
and I’m okay with that.
But when I receive the
Body of Christ, an invisible
spring of living water leaps
up out of my peaceful soul.
These crystal clear waters
of pure love surge upwards,
with unbounded freedom and joy,
praising the King of Heaven.
humility is
understanding
that i am nothing more
than a bag of bones
who recognizes The Truth.
I am weary,
my eyes bleary;
I drag around,
without a sound;
I have no home,
so off I roam;
I beg for food,
my shoes are glued;
on the mend,
I seek a friend.
“I just don’t get
Why Catholics
Even bother with
Talking to the saints:
I always speak directly
To Jesus when I pray.”
“But, my dear friend,
Although He doesn’t
Need to go through others,
Oftentimes He does,
And it delights Him to do so:
We saints know better than
Anyone that we are merely
Ambassadors of Christ --
Yes, Jesus is truly the
Great God of Generosity,
But, even more, He is
The Great Lord of Humility.”
This equation is like a golden key,
That will certainly set our spirits free;
Prayer prepares the soul for God’s holy gifts,
While surrender cleanses and also sifts;
These open the door to true heartfelt love,
Which only comes from the good God above;
When love is tested in the deep dark night,
In the morn it shines as mercy so bright.
in fear.
we shudder.
thinking we may offend.
someone.
by speaking.
the wrong words.
because political correctness.
ties a knot.
in our throats.
and makes us mute
But in Love,
When the opportunity
Presents itself,
My heart smiles,
And my soul soars,
As the Morning Star
Rises in my heart,
And I shout out,
Bursting with joy,
“Merry Christmas!”
The Babe of Divine Mercy
Is born of the Sweet Virgin,
And as He lay in the manger,
The Light, a very bright Light,
Shines most powerfully,
Kindling the fire of love
In the hearts of the magi,
In the souls of the shepherds,
In every nation of the world,
Throughout all generations,
Stirring into a strong flame
The embers of eternity.
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.