Civilized

All bets are off

Anything is possible

Anything can happen here

Fear in each spoonful of oatmeal

Hatred in ham sandwiches at lunch

Dissidence

Spite

Lies

Anger

Our evening stew

Violence justified

Indecency glorified

Lies equal truth

This will not end well

Anarchy and war

Guns are lifted

Pointed

Aimed

Fired

At the other

We are safe

Syria will never happen here

We are civilized

I am inspired by an Irish poet, Michael Longley, who wrote during the years of strife in his country; strife between people who lived in the same neighborhoods, walked the same streets, shopped at the same grocery stores.

I am at the same time disappointed and confused by the stances taken by people that I love. It’s hard to think that one sees things so clearly, only to have another trusted and respected friend, so clearly stand in opposition. My faith in my fellow humans is shaky; my faith in my Father is firm—come what may.

Nancy Perkins

November 6, 2016

For Nancy

Nancy, wife of J G Williams
Born October 12, 1821
Died April 1, 1850
She lived about ten years of her life a devoted Christian and died in the faith


To Nancy
Lying in the woods
Beside the road where I walk
Your grave stone lies flat
In the leaves and sapling trees
No one but the dear and birds
Attend your sleeping
Born one hundred years before me
You bear my name

Now you know, as you know God
Our souls are held by him from
Our conception and beyond--not just ten years
Now you know that ownership of men
And women was against his design
Now you know that we are all His
As you break bread with souls
From every tongue and tribe
Now you rest in peace

7/31/16

Yesterday, along the road where we walk, my sister and I discovered an old burial ground. Some of the markers are hard to read; some are small with no names at all--possibly infants or children. One that drew me in was the one pictured above: Nancy, wife of J G Williams. Only 29 years old when she died. What was her story? She died before the civil war; did she own slaves? I went back to the cemetery this morning, drawn in to this woman's untold story. She died 100 years before I was born, yet somehow I feel connected. Weird...

Re-Centering

Google Maps has a feature
you can use if you
stray from the predictive road.
It's an arrow labeled
Re-center.

Sometimes the news and noise
flashing through on my devices
crowds my mind and
disorients my sense of
who I really am.

I need a weekend of silence
I told my daughter.
I need to separate myself
From people's comments
And likes and whatnot.

Like Google Maps, she laughed
Press Re-center.

Abandoned...and yet (An ode to Spencer)

Sometimes I feel abandoned
By the one who could
Have shed light on this violent pathway
Could have given guidance
Could have helped us find our way

Yet as I walked this morning
Listening to Josh Groban
Sing Up Where You Are;
I cherish all you gave me...
And therein is my way forward

These children who are so precious to me
Are your gift, the presence you left behind
And while I long for your words and inspiration
I see the very things I long for and miss
In these amazing young people

In their courage...his constant prayer for himself
In their anger, sometimes harsh and cutting
In their loving tenderness, couching harsh words in grace
In their loyalty to their friends and family
In their words--spoken and written

And isn't faith believing
all power can't be seen?

Give us courage
To meet the challenges of this day
Give us hope that truth and justice will prevail
Give us strength to rise another day and another
Give us presence when we feel alone

I know you're there
A breath away's not far to where you are


These days I long for Spencer and the wisdom and insight he brought to a world of injustice and violence; wisdom learned from his own experiences of violent racism, applied to daily living. What would he be saying today? Would he go to Ferguson, to Baltimore, to Baton Rouge? In the phone calls and frantic texting and conversations with Johnathan and Jubilee and April Joy, I hear echoes of his courage and call. I see glimpses of his determination and persistence. I find wisdom and guidance and strength for my own journey, and I am reminded that we are not abandoned, just separated physically from Spencer. His words are being written from new pens; his words are being spoken through younger voices; his legacy of truth and justice now continues threefold in these amazing gifts he left with me.

Joanie, you probably don't remember, but you are the one who shared with me Josh Groban's song, Up Where You Are, after Spencer died. I couldn't listen to it very often back in those days, but recently I have found it to be so comforting and precious.

Ramadan

Prayer.

Acts of service.

Humility.

Family.

Fasting.

Seeking God.

Reading sacred texts.

I listened this morning to Muslims

Sharing their memories and feelings

As they celebrate their holy month of Ramadan

I am a Christian 

I do not read and practice the Qur'an

I don't personally know many Muslims

Yet I am drawn to this sacred practice 

It's tenets resonate with my love of Jesus

And his teachings of love, humility and prayer

I know Christians who meet in prayer 

For the conversion of Muslims

During this sacred season

What would happen if their prayers

Turned into solidarity of fasting and prayer

Along side those for whom they pray

I'm just wondering...maybe next year

Nancy Perkins

6/30/16

Some may find this musing offensive or say I'm on a slippery slope. I'm really just feeling like we have our Heavenly Father in way too small a box. I'm not saying we're all the same. I'm saying there are lovely sacred spaces where we could possibly sit together. 

Remnants

Old boards, old doors, old gates and walls

I wonder what lies dormant in your past

To what sights and sounds did you bear witness

What pain and suffering, what dance and song

Whose prayers for deliverance did you hear

What songs of praise or lament

And now I pass by wondering

Where are the souls who lived within

Who mourned their passing

And who left these crumbling walls

To make lives and journeys new

Who laid down with wounds to great to bear

And I walk by in silence

Are there lessons to be learned

Are their gaping wounds waiting for forgiveness 

Longing for a healing

Crying out for mercy and for grace

Whispered prayers clinging to these sad walls

Is there a chance we can redeem the past

Is there hope that can be pulled

From these old boards and doors

Or are we fated to repeat the sins

Of our fathers, who walked away

Never looking back

Summer Verse

Songs of the Birds

The tiny bodies of Carolina wrens
Tremble as mighty song pours forth
Gaudy cardinal has the repertoire
Of a showy operatic tenor
Woodpeckers of various color and size
Carry on a staccato beat of a drum line
Finches and sparrows chatter
Not unlike a classroom of fifth graders
Blue jays scream and scold
Starlings grumble and jeer
Robins cherrio with heads tipped
toward the earth and worms
And my favorite
The soulful call of the mourning dove
Always falls into my heart and soul


Raining...but not raining

I'm walking
It's cloudy but not raining
I hear the sound like rain falling
It's the drops of rain
Held overnight by leaves
On the forest trees
Freed by a gentle morning breeze
To fall further
On to the ground
Raining but not raining


Magnolia Leaves

Magnolia leaves cascade toward the ground
Loosened from limbs by an evening breeze
Their passage through the recalcitrant leaves
Creates music
Rivaling the tune from the wind chime
Hanging on the lowest branch

The Dan River

Flowing peacefully

Past abandoned fabric mills

Over dams and under bridges

Geese with goslings

Turtles and cormorants on the rocks

Dead trees washed up on the banks

The people are all gone

The slaves that built the giant factories

The owners who lived in Victorian mansions

We stroll thru time

Down walking paths along the Dan

And wonder why some things never change

Spring

In a world where

news is often annoying

and sad and frightening

Spring comes

and it's beauty

takes my breath

and makes me smile

And I am comforted

by the faithfulness

of seasons

the colors of the earth

The knowing of

God's love and care

Fear and hatred

drain the world of

beauty and peace

While my heart

is touched and grieved

by all that bile

I step outside

and breathe and breathe

and draw into my soul

the peace of God and

Pray his hand upon us

and His Kingdom come

to earth

Reparations

I wonder if that Revelations crowd

Standing in front of the throne

Those surviving the great ordeal

Those whose tears will be wiped away

And whose sorrow shall be over

I wonder if those are the people of color

From around our earth

Whose lives have been only suffering

Pain and heartache

Trials and tribulations

I wonder if they're the ones

The Father will gather to his bosom

If they're the ones who will receive

The robes, the crowns and the mansions

It would only be fair. 

This past Sunday the New Testament reading was from Revelations 7:9-17. As the lector was reading these verses, I was overwhelmed with the vision of people of color from all around the world standing in front of the heavenly Father, and he was promising them that the great injustices done to them over the centuries were over, and all the promised rewards were now theirs. Maybe it's just my way of making myself feel better...I don't know.