God's presence is known to man, in quiet ways...a poem...
This is another of my poems written a few years ago, revised. It talks of that quiet voice of God. A voice we know.
Love mysterious ours... by Peter Menkin
I read
the books of the Prophets,
Isaiah the most recent: searching
with him the presence
and love God
in faithfulness offers generation
by generation.
The reason to know,
He seeks and searches
the heart
of men and women, whom
His everlasting
love comes to in self giving;
a grace
unearned changing me and all of us
in a cosmos of ways of calming
comfort
love mysterious ours.
This time, in the evening as I write this note in my blog, I consider how I must return to the Lord. The sun has set, the light of the winter has from day turned to night. Stay with me for a short time, and forgive my indulgence in telling you about my solitude of heart in my poem, and how I turn back to him, dancing around the sorrows of my life sometimes.
This in a poem.
Everyone isn't going to find this their favorite subject, but I confess my sense of needing to be conscious or just in the presence of God. Otherwise, I begin to feel alone, and I begin to feel like I have forgotten something, and I think, He is missing. But of course God is present, everywhere, all the time. Like that hymn on the CD I am listening to tonight, "My Soul Proclaims the Greatness of the Lord." That is also what I want to have and experience.
A note about adding some more images to this blog. For some time I have perused, searched, and sometimes visited museum websites for images of paintings that are religious in nature. I also find images elsewhere, for you will see there are a number of icons of Christ. On the way, I've collected a few different "faces" of Christ. Some are posted already.
Here is that poem from five years ago about returning to the Lord, in our lonliness, or when we feel we are slipping away from Him.
Nurturing Solitude of the Heart by Peter Menkin -- Dec 14, 2001 When at Evening Prayer
together
Christ thrusts upon me
solitude--Call to vocation with God,
alone in unsuspected depth.
A teacher says this
is where God has always been.
Dance around sorrow,
the crucible is necessary.
Cry, "Abba!"
