Never Shall It Be Mine

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          After close to two weeks of good, hard work, and some tumultuous hours pickled in impatience, frustrations and hurts, the days wind to a quiet close in the Feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

          And I have little to offer Him.

          As I lay awake in the lasts of the old night, in my offering basket there is no novena, no bracelet of days spun from deep prayer and contemplation of the Word of God. There is more praise and thanksgiving than usual.

          But my basket still looks bare to the eye.

          I love Thee, I whisper as sleep finds me.

          Awakening to a cool, rain-sprinkled morn where elfin breezes play shy games among the wet boughs, the world wears mists for its dress. In the still of the silver~green day, I sadly acknowledge the aching empty of heart that is fast becoming the birthmark of my soul. I am knowing more and more days when my heart feels so empty, the barrenness trying, difficult and sorrowful. Ever more are the days when I straddle two worlds: the outer one of work and care, lived for others, wreathed in joy-giving as well as pain.

          And the hidden inner one, grey and dry, worn and empty.

          June has not been an easy month for ten years now. From the Feast of St Anthony of Padua begins the sorrow of memories of a life gone by, and these days I cope by trying not to dwell on the passing dates which cradle one anniversary of loss after another.

          Right in the middle of this grey journey I make every year stands the Feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, harbor in this storm-tossed crossing.

          I arrive at this hiddenness today, hoping for a miracle of joy, some light at least, but for the early hours, it is not to be. The words of the Readings and Gospel tumble past my discerning. I am as empty as ever. And it hurts. Oh, how it hurts.

          Rising to leave my post of wait, I take one last look into a prayer nook, to see if Heaven has left me any morsel for the day. In the quiet deeps, I find this awaiting me ~

…..my heart, O sweetest Mary,
Is not mine, but Thine:
Take it; give it all to Jesus;
Ne’er shall it be mine.

          The words find my heart. I know what I need to do.

          From emptiness I draw forth every struggle, stumble and failure, every bit of bread broken and shared. Every sorrow. Every joy. Sweet and bitter, vibrant and shriveled, cradle after offering cradle I fill.

……not mine, but Thine:
Take it; give it all to Jesus;
Ne’er shall it be mine.

 

 

 

 

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6 comments

    1. Ellen
      How true! Those of us who have been lead here or have randomly stumbled across her beautiful site look forward to the way Caitlynne paints with her word colors of rich faith, humble vulnerability, naked honesty, selfless humor and warming love. Behind her deep layered images is a real wife, mother, daughter, coworker, neighbor…like those who surround us in our own lives; but who we do not actually get to see or know because they are wrapped in their safe monotone coatings.
      I, for one, am challenged, encouraged and enlightened by Caitlynne’s open pursuit of God’s presence in her daily struggles, joys and insights. May she continue to be blessed with her artistic “word imagery”. This is God’s gift to us through Caitlynne’s beautiful soul.

      May you find yourself in her, as I have, and be uplifted.

      God’s Child

      Like

  1. Hello dear Caitlynne,

    Thank you for your visit to and sweet comments on my blog. We have been away for the past week. We have not bee affected by any fires where we live – Thank you, LORD.

    May you be bless and encouraged in God’s grace through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

    Much love,
    ♥Hope

    Liked by 1 person

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