Place of Worship

Sunday morning on my porch
Is this now my church?
My buttered toast and coffee
The wafer and the wine?
The passing runners
  and dog-walkers
My fellow congregants?
For 50 and more years
My church was brick and stone
Pews filled with believers
Joining voices in hymn and song
Preachers--some good some bad
Bringing the Word
I feel suspended in a space
Unable or unwilling
To participate in worship as usual
I claim my green porchchair
And sit before His Majesty
And wonder if He'll ever
Call me back inside
And if He does
Will I be willing
To leave the birds and trees and coffee
For a wooden pew and wine.

Sunday, July 1, 2011

In Between

Remember all those carefully thought-out choices?

Those end-of-life decisions on the bright pink paper?

Ending well?

It’s good in theory

I mean, the conversations were valuable

The boxes had to be checked.

But here we are

In between

Where pink paper choices don’t apply

Where blinks mean more than words

And the grip of a hand says volumes

Where truth and sense are trapped behind

Nods and shakes of the head

Where occasional words are applauded

Even when they just float there

Confined to bed and chair

Moving when others choose to assist

Even for the most personal needs

Good care—but what does that mean

When food falls down your chest

And diapers need to be changed

Ah, mother,

Here you are. In between your fulfilled life

And wholeness with the Father.

And we stand aside

And struggle to cooperate with the mystery*

Unfolding in our midst.

*From a quote by Sue Monk Kidd--Be still and cooperate with the mystery God is unfolding in you.

Struggling with my mother's condition following a recent stroke.

Nancy Perkins

July 2012