Reflections after Sunday mass,
I cannot help yet identify a call, a comforting quiet voice,
Something has been happening throughout my life,
Guiding and directing.
The Lord whispers sweetly. joy caressing,
Hymns sung softly, breathing aloud,
Within work conducted, prayers: experience, and study reflected,
The Eucharist stands, illuminating, shining forth.
The Poor Clares of Perpetual Adoration nurture.
In Adoration, the Benedictines at St Andrew Abbey reside.
Father Roger, humble and aware, exists with a sincere tantalizing smile.
Other matters I discard, a call opening a new identity.
Childish ways abandoned, inferior lashings lacking.
I will never identify as an alcoholic in North Dakota.
A past filled with corruption, sadness, and sin.
Maimed, wounded, and broken-hearted.
There is much cleansing to conduct, emptying and ridding.
I refuse to distinguish and muddle within that which is castoff.
Superfluous, exceeding the need of efficacy,
There is no need to focus identity upon the specifics of brokenness.
God wields a two-edge sword able to cut through all complications,
An open heart and mind surrendering receives,
Lord transform, gracing unification, the merging of wills,
Lord, I bow, presenting myself.
I bring others along, grace abounding,
I refuse to part from love, in this I cannot concede,
An intelligent son, witnessing, bright eyed and keen,
A family in need, loving conversion annealing,
Ann resides, coming along, burdening not at all,
Stinging in thought, anger extinguished,
Carried along in the beating of my heart,
The offering of my soul.