How often have we felt alone,

Forced by those separators in the world,

Always making space for themselves by dividing others.

 

Yet it not what they do,

But how we react.

Not marginalizing them as they did He,

And continuing to love them.

 

Even when it hurts the most.

 

Generations assembled for no other reason,

Than to talk or share the happiness of an early morning,

Here on the town beach,

See children previously unseen,

 

Listen to important non-gossip,

Like the villagers of Llareggub,

Making sense of their own communities;

Here on this sandy morning.

 

Filling in the details which complete their joy.

 

Inside each of us has their place,

Their role, reliant on the other, in a very special way.

Creating a bond, which though strong,

Excludes others for the duration of the voyage.

 

Avoiding any friendly engagement with the outside world.

Surrounded by mash defending our faith,

The fish pie is served with dollops of

Love and island hospitality;

Making it clear what makes our fish pie

The best.

 

Like the fish,

Slippery and fun filled.

We look for friendly spots

Full of food yet devoid of danger;

Yearning for rivers deep and exciting.

 

Anglers search for the right fly,

Lines land on the water each presenting

Their own little case,

Hoping the fly will be attractive to

The dispensation fish; splashing meaning in our lives.

 

Now caught and lovingly baked

Conversations span the ages, faith, and families,

All in a whirlpool them;

What it means to be an Irish fish

In another man’s stream and far from home.

Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

 

Shortened version of the full Prayer on St. Patrick’s Day

“Michael, am I dead?”

Came the words laced with a new sincerity,

Only reserved for the most profound questions.

I sat there for a moment,

As I pondered the state of mind that prompted the enquiry,

From the man lying in the hospital bed.

My father.

 

“No dad”, “you are not dead”

I AM here with you.

 

All is well.

I will open the new door tomorrow,

Change my annoying habit next year,

Ask for forgiveness again,

Procrastinate once more.

 

As the sun sets, nothing has changed.

 

 

 

Nothing says gratefulness like a child,

Says love me like a child,

Says dependence like a child,

Says “God Made Me” like a child.

 

Remember the children in your life.

 

Add ten seconds to each moment,

And my response would be better,

kinder, warmer, more forgiving,

than my first.

 

But can I ever be as loving as He is to me?