Peering into the Hues and Words of Her Blue Womb:

"They Have No Wine"
John 2:1-12

Was Jesus’ 30-year
hidden life an extension of the
nine months in His
mother Mary’s womb,
whereby in the anonymity and
seclusion and safety of
Nazareth, He was
nourished and shaped
and formed as by a potter’s
wheel…? Until at the
Wedding Feast of Cana
He was once again born, and
due to His mother’s
persistence and insistence,
His ministry like the
infinite folds of hydrangea was
unfurled – and the
Incarnate Word became
water into finest
wine, His spiritual
realm finally revealed.

Ode to a Ginkgo’s Leaves

O yellow, sometimes e’en
gold, but with a tinge of slightest green,
undulating before my gaze,
each leaf’s changing
as the sun o’er my shoulder
leans, o you, dear leaves, doth arrest
me in my tracks, because
there is something
about your countenance,
which makes me believe you once
cradled my Savior’s
Shadow as He walked past.

Collage of The Old and the New

The Lord is my
hope and my salvation.
There is nothing I shall want.
In Him, hope springs
eternal, and hope
does not disappoint.
The Lord is my shepherd,
and, yea, e’en in the
valley of the shadow of
death I am not lost.
To whom else would I go?
“The Lord is my font,”
echoes my soul.
He is my portion and
to the brim fills my
cup. I am nourished by
His Word, and from
His Wisdom desert streams
to my thirst come.
Nothing can separate
me from the Love of the
Lord. He searches
me and knows me.
By His Cross He is my
Saving Hope – Christ Jesus,
the Only Begotten
Son of God.

Emptying

(John 2:1-11)

At the Wedding Feast of
Cana I am, traversing there in my
mind, watching, observing
all the joyous people, no longer
limited by space and time,
lingering in the background
at the periphery of all the guests,
not hoping for my stone
water jar to be filled, but rather
the intercession of the
Blessed Mother with her Son,
to have the vessel be
emptied of its useless fear
and despair.

Asking the LORD

May my prayer
appear before You as sweetest
incense, its wisps of hope
curling and cleansing
like perfume scented with
daydreams of desert
streams. May my soul be
wrapped within the refuge of
Your wings, clothed in
the hues of a sage oasis,
content like an infant
from its mother newly
weaned.