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Leaf Fall

Come in, rest a while, invites an autumn woods. I go,delighted with the new openness of leaf-bare trees, intoxicated with memory-evoking aromas.

Come, compost the year's experiences, be still, let go, let be, whispers the woods.

Watching endless leaf-journeys to common ground, I think perhaps our lives are like the leaves--

we bud,

come forth spring green,


blaze with autumn glory,

let go,

return home.

Sister Lynne Therese, OCD

She Prays Within Me

A little French girl
with a spirit as big
as Iowa's Heartland
catches my spirit,
and, this is how we pray:
As writing on the heart,
As lines upon the face,
As first tear upon the brim
And ruby in the locket,
So are You to me, God of my life.
As hunger in the heart,
As Way to life's little,
As light in the lantern
And wide open country to one small step,
So are You to me, God of my life.
As faith in the bleating of midnight,
As breath in last hour,
As forever to passing second
And all the world to one small corner,
So are You to me, God of my life.
As fire in the heart of mission,
As warm embrace to the surrendered,
As hidden rejoicing in struggle
And Gracious All to whimsical choosing,
So are You to me, God of my life.
One hundred years ago,
Love could no longer wait.
But, the little French girl,
with invincible spirit
and undaunted creativity returned.
Now, she moves among us,
smoothing out the rough, breaking impasses,
surprising in secret, smiling impishly,
making roses out of most unusual things.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, OCD

Your spirit invades my soul,
Child of the flower,
Small, tiny, insignificant-
Yet strong with the Power of Little.
Your within-Person is Wisdom Woman,
Feeding, emanating WORDS
From Wisdom Man
The teaching of the In-her-child.
Darkness-void of light
Fearful-groping toward the unknown
Stumbling, falling, crying out for help
For someone to care
Alone-the emptiness of death.
Light-illuminating darkness
Hope filled-moving toward fulfillment
Rising, striving, reaching out for love
With someone to share
Together-fullness of life.
Sister Helen of Divine Intimacy,OCD

Here I am, among seeming lumps of clay
Waiting for the potter's touch
To take me up, fashion and mold me, into a vessel,
A container to hold the sacred wine,
To be changed into Christ's live giving blood.
See me, what I'm not yet made into.
So empty, so useless, waiting.
Suddenly, a feeling of hope!
For among these many blobs of clay,
The potter picks me up, looks at me.
"Oh, yes. This piece is ready.
It's been used before,
But now, it seems to have the resiliency
For molding, for shaping."
Gently, Oh, so gently, the potter begins the molding process
Shaping, smoothing here and there,
The unwanted lumps, the ridges.
But then-abruptly, forcefully,
He throws me back on the wheel-
To become, however painful,
The shape, the form of the sacred cup
To hold his Son's blood.
Again, the fear!
Will he find me worthy-
Ready for such a great privilege?
Once again, reverently, he takes me from the wheel,
Holds me gently in the palm of his hand,
And continues once again,
To smooth over the unwanted lumps, the ridges.
Lovingly, gently, turning me,
Fashioning me into that sacred cup.
"Yes, she is ready now.
She can become what I see her to be!"

Sister Helen of Divine Intimacy, OCD

Leaf Song

O Lord of all Autumns,

Give me the leaf-grace to let go,

Sister Lynne Therese of the Resurrection, OCD

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