mother and child reunion

I helped her into the tub

soaped up her washcloth

gently bathed her back

that feels so good she said

I handed the cloth to her

to finish her bath

oh yes, I also bent and washed her feet

a pitcher from the kitchen cupboard

filled with warm water

rinsed off all the soap

she carefully stepped out of the tub

holding tightly to my hands

I helped her dry off

and put on her clean housecoat

all the while I was remembering

how as a child

she bathed and dried me

she sat on a kitchen chair

facing sideways

I loosened the tiny braid

hanging down her back

and ran the comb through her thin hair

that feels good she said

once again I was a child

sitting in the kitchen chair

my hair being braided into two pigtails

my mother is frail and fragile

but not a child

and taking care of her is a gift

her grateful smile and tear-filled eyes

almost more than I can bear

an intimate exchange of places

now she’s in the chair

Nancy Perkins

June 2011

Garden Cantata - Part II

The garden tunes are changing now
With white yarrow and those yellow flowers
    from Naomi’s garden
Competing for the lead
The fragrant tea—two kinds—rival the ferns for height

The newly planted annuals are content to bloom
    close to the ground
Brilliant yellow begonias
And some strange clover-like flower
That we thought was cool


The coneflowers and bee balm await the next cue
Bits of pink and red barely visible.
And the daisies are close behind
Big white buds resting in broad green leaves

An old window with broken panes has become
The backdrop for the brilliant blooms of foxglove—
That’s Juba’s creation.
(The foxglove got a head start from the garden center
At Home Depot)
And leafy spears promise gladiola buds and blooms

St Francis struggles to maintain decorum
As the remains of iris and the struggling
    old-fashioned rose
Rise above his shoulders, almost to his head.
He’s still directing—now behind the scenes

Stay tuned for Part III.



Nancy Perkins
June 2011

You’d Think That I’d Have Learned

 You’d think that I’d have learned

All these valleys I’ve traversed

That yes, life throws itself at you

And just when you think it’s worst

A word, a call, a whisper

From a book, a friend—God?

A reminder of perspective

A change of heart, a nod

To the weaving of my story

Into fabric strong and blessed

Where time reveals the valleys turned

To mountain tops of rest

In His provision suffering takes

On a countenance of grace

Reflection of His gentleness

A turning of the face

Away from fear and anger

To forgiveness, love and trust

And on to smoother paths I hope

More valleys, if I must.

Nancy Perkins
June 10, 2011

This poem is dedicated to Maggie, my sister-friend, who early one morning texted me a book reference. I found the book and read the paragraphs, and found that I was on holy ground, sitting at my dining room table. Thanks, Maggie, for loving me, and calling me to a better way. Below is the reading of that morning from the book, A Private House of Prayer, by Leslie D Weatherhead. (This book was introduced to our family by my sister, Elena, at one of our special sister weeks several years ago. Thanks, Elena.)

The measure of hurt and evil in what Thou dost allow (not intend) to happen to me is the measure of Thy purpose for me in what happens. I, therefore, seek to lift the measure of my faith to that high level. For nothing Thou dost allow to happen to me can have, in itself, the power to defeat me, or even to hinder my soul's true progress. Indeed, like Calvary to Jesus, it can be the means by which I fulfill Thy plan, a plan which was man-invented evil. All that Thou dost allow to happen is allowed only because it can be woven into the pattern Thou art weaving for my blessedness, and the nature of my reaction and the quality of my faith either help or hinder Thee and determine the speed and beauty of Thy weaving. I now, therefore, hereby determine not to allow my reaction to be merely the normal effect of what has happened. For the normal effect of suffering and other forms of evil is depression, resentment, self-pity, rebellion, worry, or even despair. I will gather the materials for my reaction from the treasures of the kingdom of heaven which thou dost offer me--love and serenity, courage and humility, faith and hope. So joy will not be quenched by suffering--even though temporary happiness may be--nor my faith annihilated by evil, even though sometimes that faith may be overclouded. So help me, O God, continually to affirm Thy purposefulness through all that happens, and to receive, for my encouragement, glimpses of an ultimate triumph in which nothing is wasted and everything is seen to be infinitely worthwhile. Amen. (Italics are mine.)

Threads

I read over this poem that I wrote one Saturday morning, and I realized that while it aptly described where I was at the time, God's grace has given me the strength and will to move on. I'm so grateful for His unwavering love and mercy.

I woke up from my drugged sleep
feeling sluggish and heavy
I sat with my morning coffee
and a great sadness returned
and soundless tears rolled down my face

I took my coffee to the stoop in the backyard
and the normalcy of life washed over me
new blooms in the garden—new weeds too
harsh cries from birds
disturbed by the wanderings of my cat

in ten years, mom, we’ll look back
and talk about this with disbelief
assurances from my daughter

where is my solid ground?
where my hope and strong faith?
they are drowning in the sea of present realities
and I am hanging on to the thread
of what I’ve known to be the greatest reality
God’s love for me and my children

Nancy Perkins
Saturday, May 14, 2011