Yes, another poem. It's what I DO, and sometimes it comes in waves:

Do not wonder that now I weep
and then am filled with song –
Grace’s reach is sharp and deep
and clay vessels are not strong.
And so we sometimes reel,
stuporous and giddy,
As we are prepared to share a meal
with the inhabitants of God’s city.
We must be in proper attire
and embrace a kind of death
To hold the holy Fire
of God’s own sacred Breath.

You said we must take up our cross,
if we would follow You,
and it’s true that we are burdened
and there is much to do;
but in the exigencies of the day
as mother, friend, and wife,
I see a seamless garment,
warm with Your life.

Lots of Internet problems lately, so I haven't been able to log on consistently.
Mea culpa.
Here's something short, assuming it will actually upload (fiat voluntas tua).

She said You carved
a 10-faceted slavery into desert stone,
but I know this can’t be right –
from Your absolutely free and merciful Throne
can only come
codices of LIGHT.

In what wild wilderness will You
leave me to weep, waiting for some sign
that what I seek
is already mine, unseen?

I have given all to You to take, use,
keep safe, bring brightly home, and every
burn and ache I vowed
to bear for You alone, for Love's sake.

But all appears empty now, and gray,
and my greatest fear here is at the end
of the day I am only
me alone and exerting nothing.

The delight of desire dampened
to vague trust, the former fire
dulled to ash and every breath
that once was prayer is now
just dust, lifeless air.

Is this the lowliness of love, the way
that is no way at all, the weird
half-dark before loneliness is at last
pure enough to be lit with
the deep lightnings of God?

When will fire again flash in this
vast uninteresting landscape in me
where You promised to
pitch Your tent,
to delight in dwelling?

Or at least, when will you again at last
let my shoulder feel
the weight of the cross, my arms measure
the circumference of rough wood, my hands know
the consolation of its splinters,
my heart
the rending of pure love?

+
In our FIAT, there is always a "letting go."

We must, at every stage, be letting go of our own desires, our natural reactions, our preconceptions and expectations. You are always surprising us, if we are open to be awed; You are ever calling us to something new, something we cannot know, if we are willing to let go of what is familiar and secure; You are longing to lift us beyond ourselves, if only we will open our arms to You.

Why is it so difficult for us to step out into the sun? You invite us to be free, unlock the cage we are in, even prop the door open, but we often refuse to leave what is familiar - even if it is dark and uncomfortable. We must be opened up to the Light. Something must break through to us, to convince us to allow ourselves to be freed of all that prevents Your love from touching us, transforming us, re-creating us from the inside out.

We must go through progressive "openings." Steve Hand calls them "shatterings," and it's a good word. We must go through progressive "shatterings" of our own facades, our illusions, our securities, our erroneous ideas, before we are free enough to turn fully to You.

Sometimes we are shattered by being knocked off our horse and blinded (like Paul); sometimes by the shock of love and mercy reaching to us gently and unexpectedly (like the woman caught in adultery); sometimes by our own recognition that we have denied You and are weaker than we wanted to believe (like Peter); sometimes by Your very Presence manifest in a surprising way.

As we turn to You, reach to You, we hear You say, "Take up your cross and follow Me." We must walk the purifying path to Calvary, by which we are stripped of every unnecessary thing, often including even our own self-confidence and success, supported only by grace, dark faith, and pure hope. We must walk the essential path in which we are reduced to suffering love.

Yes, we are shattered down to love.

~ from His Suffering and Ours, available through http://www.lulu.com/kathryntherese