Updated: Aug 17
This weekend, I will be proclaiming the readings at Mass. The first reading, (Isaiah 6:1-8) reminds me of a poem I wrote sixteen years ago when I was recovering from a serious illness.
Does this strike a chord from your life?
Dreams are coming, Lord
but without sleep.
Are they from You?
Or are they from my own small heart?
Dare I tell You?
Like a seed bursting forth in the cool , damp, fertile soil
I long to break through the darkness of my illness-imposed isolation
into the warmth and light of this world.
I have something to announce.
Dare I speak it?
To a people enslaved by life's burdens
Let me reveal Your identity.
Manifestations of Your graces abound.
Your angels minister among us.
Dare I proclaim them?
My spirit is willing
But my body's own constant companion seeks to rob me of strength.
With all my foibles and imperfections,
I humbly say, "Here I am, Lord, send me."
Dare I be Your prophet?
© Margaret A. Blenkush