I am in the process of up dating my blog website, please be patient with me because I have no idea what I am doing
Love and hugs Ruth May 1, 2019
Thomas
Thomas where were you
when Jesus came?
What was so important
you couldn’t stay for a while longer?
Did you have to do that
all important
laundry, or groceries, or maybe clean a closet?
What could have drawn you away?
I know how it is to have all those tasks
to always have no time to finish those all important tasks.
I understand you
Thomas
I am like you, . . .
to busy to stop
to busy to listen
to busy to wait
You won’t believe
unless you see
you must feel the wounds to have faith
Oh so like you am I . . .
I too wasn’t there to see and touch the master
and sometimes I find it hard to believe,
to just have faith.
It took you the touch of the Master to believe
I have the words he spoke to my heart to believe
It took you putting your hands in his wounds to believe
I have his love warming my spirit to believe
I have not seen the Master as you have done
But I have seen the Master in the face of a newborn child,
in the morning sunrise and evening sunset,
Yes I’ve seen the Master, for the he is all around me
If you weren’t so busy you would see the Master too
Ruth Jewell, ©April 23, 2019
Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn 1606 – 1669, Pushkin Museum, Moscow
Emmaus
They walked the dusty road with him
not knowing who he was
with every word he spoke, a fire burned within
yet they didn’t recognize him
Are we not like Cleopas and his companion
when with us in the dark he walks
closed are the eyes of our hearts
we cannot see the one who
sets our souls on fire
It was the breaking of bread
they recognized
the source of their desire,
their Lord
In the breaking of our bread
we recognize our Lord
we see our Lord, we hear our Lord, when . . .
we share our bread with outcasts
the disinherited
it is in the eyes of the hungry we see . . .
the face of Christ
~Ruth Jewell, ©April 22, 2019
by Ruth Jewell, 2005
Joy Beyond Joy
She sits in the
Garden
tears mar her cheeks
confused, frightened
where did they take him
where have they hidden him
Mary . . . .
Her heart stops, she
can’t breath
it is his voice, it looks like him,
yet he, he, he . . .
she steps closer
a whisper, Rabbouni
Bursting into the
upper room,
she dances from person to person, He lives
He lives, I saw Him
I touched Him
I spoke to Him, He Lives
He Lives
Oh Joy beyond Joy
O Love beyond Love
HE LIVES
Ruth Jewell, ©April 21, 2019
Grief
She sat in the corner
eyes dry, there are no more tears
her heart ached for her baby boy
the world so bright now dark
“my baby, my son”
“A sword will pierce
your soul,” he said
he came to die they said
but, . . . .
I carried him under my heart
I cradled him in my arms
he was my son, my first born
~Ruth Jewell, ©April
20, 2019
Good Friday
You call this Friday good
but today the Good died
all love hung on a cross
the sky cried
the earth broke it’s heart
the darkness of the soul covered the earth
We hide behind locked
doors
grief grips our hearts
fear takes our minds
we wait for the knock
we wait to be dragged to our own cross
we wait, . . . we wait
~ Ruth Jewell, ©April 19, 2019
Whispers
In the silence of the night
The spirit whispered
Blessed be
Be blessed
Ruth Jewell, © March 13, 2019
taken with a Microsoft Surface notebook
