Why I Love You O Mary...

Media Art by Lindy

 O beloved Mother, despite my littleness,

Like you I possess The All-Powerful within me.

But I don't tremble in seeing my weakness:

The treasures of a mother belong to her child,

And I am your child, O my dearest Mother.

Aren't your virtues and your love mine too?

So when the white Host comes into my heart, 

Jesus, your Sweet Lamb, thinks he is resting in you!... 

 

Why I Love You, O Mary!
Stanza No. 5 
St. Therese of Lisieux 

A Sunday Walk with Therese...

Digital Art by Lindy

 

Love Poems to God...

Painting by William Powell Frith

"I am too alone in the world,

 and yet not alone enough to make every moment holy.

I am too tiny in this world, and not tiny enough

just to lie before you like a thing,

shrewd and secretive.

I want my own will, 
and I want simply to be with my will,

as it goes toward action;

and in those quiet, sometimes hardly moving times,

when something is coming near,

I want to be with those
 who know secret things

or else alone.

I want to be a mirror for your whole body,

and I never want to be blind, or to be too old

to hold up your heavy and swaying picture.

I want to unfold.

I don’t want to stay folded anywhere,

because where I am folded, there I am a lie.

and I want my grasp of things to be

true before you. I want to describe myself

like a painting that I looked at

closely for a long time,

like a saying that I finally understood,

like the pitcher I use every day,

like the face of my mother,

like a ship

that carried me

through the wildest storm of all."

Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God

Happy SUMMER!

When on a Summer's Morn by William Henry Davies

"When on a summer's morn I wake,
And open my two eyes,
Out to the clear, born-singing rills
My bird-like spirit flies.

To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,
Or any bird in song;
And common leaves that hum all day
Without a throat or tongue.

And when Time strikes the hour for sleep,
Back in my room alone,
My heart has many a sweet bird's song --
And one that's all my own."

Painting by Lawrence Alma Tade

God Is A Strange Lover...

"God is the strangest of all lovers;

His ways are fast explaining.

He sets his heart on a soul; He says to Himself,

"Here I will rest My love."

But He does not woo her with flowers or jewels

Or words that are set to music,

No names endearing, no kindled praise

His heart's direction prove

His jealousy is an infinite thing;  He stalks

the soul with sorrow.

He tramples the bloom, He blots the sun

That could make her vision dim,

He robs and breaks and destroys...there is nothing

At last but her own shame, her own affliction.

And then He comes and there is nothing in the

Vast world but Him and her love of Him.

Not till the great rebellions die and her will

Is safe in His hands forever

Does He open the door of light and

His tendernesses fall,

And then for what is seen in the soul's virgin places,

for what is heard in the heart there

Is no speech at all.

God is a strange lover; the story of His love

Is most surprising.

There is no proud queen in her cloth of gold;

Over and over again

There is only, deep in the soul, a poor

Disheveled woman weeping...

For us who have need of a picture and words:

The Magdalen."

By Jessica Powers, Carmelite Nun

(Painting by Ambrosius Benson)