Max, The Cowardly Dog

Poor Max, he’s afraid of unexpected noise

He runs for cover when thunder cracks and rumbles

Or when neighbor children play with firecrackers.

Poor dog, he finds safety underneath the porch swing

Where his human sits serene in spite of storm

Gently rocking while he cowers fearfully below.

I’m not unlike you, Max, I must admit

I’m also scared of loud and sudden sounds

I’ve been known to run for cover myself—

Even if it’s only hands over ears.

I too find safety under things—if not porch swings

Then ‘neath the fellowship of others’ conversations

Or perhaps protection offered by a prayer at close of day

Max, you give me comfort

Knowing that all creatures—man or beast

Need shelter from the storms that rage around us

Maybe cowardice is wisdom underneath

Ron and Elena Helmuth 
are Max’s humans. 
Sometimes he shares their room 
on stormy nights.

One Day at a Time

I’ve been practicing, what for me, has become a spiritual discipline. I’m taking one day at a time. I wake up in the morning, and tell God that I will live and walk in this day. Today. I sometimes sit on my stoop and look at my flower garden and watch the sun come slowly up the plant stalks. I think about the day, and about God’s love, and sometimes I whisper the names of family members or friends, giving them to God’s care for this day. And when my mind begins to wander down a tomorrow or next week trail, my mantra brings me back—one day at a time.

Tonight I fell off the wagon. I had a conversation with my son about an upcoming event that is crucial to his future, and when I said goodnight and went upstairs, I felt my gut tighten into a knot of worry and anxiety. Even as I sit and type, I cannot fight back the tears of disbelief and sadness that have been hallmarks of this valley. In my mind I’m a week and a half ahead in time. And I’m afraid and I am anxious and I forgot my resolve. One day at a time…

I’ve been reading from a small book that my sister sent me, and it’s been a real asset to maintaining my one-day-at-a-time discipline. Just last week I read:

Pray about everything; then, leave outcomes up to me. Do not fear my will for through it I accomplish what is best for you. Take a deep breath and dive into the depths of trust in me. Underneath are the everlasting arms.

This morning I read again:

Nothing can separate you from My loving presence…When you start to feel anxious, remind yourself that your security rests in Me alone, and I am totally trustworthy…You will never be in control of your life circumstances, but you can relax and trust in My control.

I read these paragraphs and I say, Yes. That’s what I want to do. And on I go into my day, reminding myself often throughout the day that I can trust my heavenly Father. He will give me my daily bread. He will hold me. He holds my children. He loves my son.

But one conversation with this child of mine, one tiny hint of fear in his voice, one glance at the worry in his deep brown eyes, and my mantra takes flight on wings of what ifs and maybes. My mind is off into outcomes and futures where love and trust are empty platitudes, and my thoughts circle and spiral downward into an ocean of riptides and deadly currents.

I did say this was a spiritual discipline for me, so here’s where I must practice believing through my doubt and fear. I will not drown. I will walk on these stormy seas. I will not take flight into next week and next month’s schedules and plans. I will not move over and make room for the fear of all unknown. I will stand in the present and live and move in what I know to be true. I will dive into the depths of the greatest reality of all—God’s love for me and my children.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate me (or my children) from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus my Lord. - Romans 8:37-38

When I am afraid I will trust in You. In God whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can mortal man do to me? - Psalm 56:3-4

The eternal God is my refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms. He will drive out my enemy before me. - Deuteronomy 33:27

I know this mantra is not magical. But it’s a way of calling me back from that spiraling whirlpool into the darkness below. One day at a time. These tears tonight will dry in morning’s sun. One day at a time. Tomorrow God will still be here. One day at a time. Tonight I’ll rest in the everlasting arms. Next week He’ll still be my refuge. Nothing in all of creation can separate me from His love. One day at a time.

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

Joanie Brings Hope

Because my natural bent is Debbie Downer
You know—worst case scenario and all that,
I tend to draw the breath and life out of an already sad situation

Here comes Joanie, auntie from the south
And like my son, she talks of hope and turning things around,
Looking for the proverbial silver lining

It’s a God thing—a sign of His grace and mercy in our life
That He sent us this gift from Jackson
Bearing gifts and collard greens and hope.

- Nancy Perkins