Empty Nest?!?

Where did that term come from? It conjures up a picture of a confused mother bird arriving back at her next, only to find that her babies are gone.

Well, regardless of where the term originates, I’m in it—the empty nest, I mean. Yesterday my son moved to Philadelphia into his own apartment. It’s a move he’s been looking forward to for months. I never planned on staying in Lancaster, he has reminded me, as plans moved forward in his apartment and job search in Philadelphia. My daughters left earlier in the Fall. One moved to Jackson, Mississippi to attend college, and the youngest started college in Philadelphia.

I woke up with a sort of expectation this morning. What will it be like to have obligation to no one but myself? I chatted with my neighbors, went to market, stopped in for a few minutes at the homes of family, and went by the local Wine and Spirits shop for some boxes. I spent most of the day sorting my books: putting some into boxes for possible delivery to Goodwill, carrying some upstairs to bookcases on the third floor, and re-arranging my favorites on the bookshelves in my living room. I finished a puzzle I’ve been working of for more than a week, and watched Top Chef on my laptop.

Throughout the afternoon and evening I’ve been listening to music that I have in a folder called Favs on Itunes. Many of the songs are ones my children have shared with me, and I smiled as I sang along.

Now it’s almost nine o’clock, and I’m feeling a little sad. Maybe it’s the haunting tunes of Gabriel’s Oboe playing as I type. Maybe it’s because I’m talking to my cat, Tiger, and he’s not interested. I’m sure it’s partly that I never expected to come to this time of my life alone. And, yes, it’s a lot because I miss my children.

But here’s the reality. I do not feel abandoned or confused. I did not wish for them to stay with me forever. They are amazing young people, and they are each experiencing the next phase of their lives, just as I am. And they are thriving. On a recent visit, my daughter Jubilee (the one in Jackson) hesitantly confided that she was ready to go back to her home—her apartment and college friends. I assured her that I am so glad that she is settled and content in her place in Jackson.  April, my youngest, while she is excited to see me when visiting, is rising to the challenge of finding her way as a freshman on a huge university campus. I love it here, Mom.

And me? Well, I’m also cautiously excited to move into this next period of my life. While it will be quieter, probably slower, most certainly cheaper, I am looking forward to what each day will bring. I think I’ll start going to the gym after work—no need to hurry home. I’m going to read—lots! Scrabble on my computer—I put the Scrabble board away with the other board games in the basement. And I’m going to eat soup—I love soup in the winter.

The nest may be emptier, but mother bird still lives here.

Trust

Times of testing are as old as thirst in the desert.

We will die with no water to drink.

Then out of the rock—a river.

Sometimes seeking God’s face and believing in his care

drives me to the wilderness to beg for water.

When it comes I want to jump in and drown in His presence.

But I drink and walk on

and thirst and seek and drink

again

from Exodus 17:1-7
Nancy Perkins

Coffee

when I find myself sitting in my living room chair

early in the morning on the weekend

desperately drinking the coffee that I normally love to savor

to satisfy that part of my brain that rules this addiction

I make the decision to stop that regular afternoon infusion at work

so that when I forget to partake on the weekend

I won’t find myself sitting in my living room chair

early in the morning

with a temple-to-temple headache that screams for caffeine

gulping down draughts of Colombian dark roast

I can hear my children laughing

I’ve been here before

My name is Nancy and I’m a coffee addict 

My porch has become my quiet place

My porch has become my quiet place

Oh, it’s not quiet—

The sounds of the birds

the muffled noise of trucks on the highway

even an occasional distant train whistle

But it’s where I talk with God in the morning

No words, but conversation just the same

His loving assurance of His care for me

calls out from the tiny sparrows

that hop around near the steps

His love of beauty in the grass and leaves

gilded gold by the rising sun

Communion and friendship are shared

in the smiles and nods of neighbors walking their dogs

or just out for a morning stroll

My coffee mug warms my hands and my soul

The warm drink flows through my body and mingles

with the warmth of Spirit

No holy books or canon needed
We meet—and it’s enough.

A Parking Lot Prayer

I had a small breakdown in the parking lot at the grocery store this evening.

Last week my good friend, Lisa reminded me that God is not a bystander or observer in the events of our lives. He’s in them. He’s a participant.

So as I drove to the grocery store I began to talk to God about my son. And as I pulled into a space in the parking lot, tears filled my eyes and my voice broke as I asked God to show me where He is in this situation that has been dragging on for three months.

The answer came so quickly—

Look at your son.

I am in the strength he wears each day as he goes out the door to work.

I am in the forbearance he shows to the ones you find so hard to forgive.

I am in the loyalty he has for his friend, with his own future still unsettled.

I am in his persistent good nature, his ability to laugh, his love of his friends.

I am in his desire and drive and determination to live the life 

    that he has envisioned.

Once again, I am awed by God’s graciousness in hearing the cry of my heart, and wrapping the cloak of his care around me, reassuring me that I am His. My children are His. He is very present.

-Nancy Perkins

August 28, 2011

April Moves to Temple

My daughter leaves today

She joins the crowd of children 

   starting college

She’s ready—excited, nervous, and ready

I’ll miss her

She’s been beside me for 18 years.

We’ve laughed and cried

And shared our wisdom

She has delighted me with music

And humbled me with her words—

Insights beyond her years

For one so young she’s already

Experienced the tougher side of life

So fear and anger live side-by-side in her soul

But God is also there (She would agree)

And tears and compassion are familiar

And it is to Him that I entrust this child

It is in His hand I place her very soul

To protect and keep from harm

Afterall, she belongs to Him

I’ve been her caregiver for this time

And I believe she leaves today—

A courageous and loving child

Prepared to take her place in the throng

August 24, 2011

Moving-in day at Temple.

- Nancy Perkins

Listening

A couple of months ago I started meeting with Joann, a new spiritual director. It felt so good to talk to someone who understood all the noise in my head and tugged at the words in my heart. One of the changes I decided to try came from The Dark Night of the Soul, by Gerald May, a book Joann recommended to me—take a break from all the spiritual books I was reading. The author suggested that in order to hear God, one might need to put aside all the preconceived ideas and images of God. I’m the kind of person who, when seeking growth or answers takes on every idea or activity that sounds like it might enhance my experience. And all it really does is make me crazy trying to do all the steps or say all the right phrases in all the right ways. As I talked with Joann, I admitted that putting aside books and just reading the Bible might be difficult. I never know where to start reading. She suggested I might use the readings of the liturgical calendar. So, that’s what I’ve been doing.

I hope this is not just a phase, ‘cause I’m really enjoying it. Another suggestion of Joann’s is that after I read scripture, I might want to let it move from my busy analytical mind to my heart, and write what I find there. This has been inspiring and life-giving, and fun to boot! I’ve been posting some of my writing on my blog.

One evening this week I was talking with a friend, I’ll call her Nora, about making a big change in her life—she’s in her sixties. I hate what I do, she confessed.  I heard the anguish and fear in her confession.

The next morning I sat on my front porch, and read from I Kings 19. Elijah was hiding in a cave, crying out to God, and God responded by appearing to him in a still small voice.  Elijah covered his face and stood in the mouth of the cave. Then he spilled his guts—his loneliness, fears and disappointments. God answered, telling him what to do next. And in sort of an afterthought, he added, by the way, there are 7000 righteous people who have not worshipped idols.

As I started writing in my journal, I mentioned meeting with Nora the night before. She’s at the mouth of the cave—like Elijah, I wrote. Then I paused. That’s not what I was thinking. I was thinking it was me at the mouth of the cave. But I knew instantly that God was speaking to me about Nora. She’s heard God’s whisper and he wants to speak to her about what’s next. Help her Lord to hear your still small voice above the fear.

I smiled and nodded to God. I hear you, I said. A few minutes later I picked up my phone and called Nora. I shared with her what had happened on my porch. We had a brief heart-felt exchange and hung up. Later that morning I received a text from Nora:  I thank God for you. Sitting in my car reading I King 19. Nora.

I went on with my work, smiling. I’m so often the recipient of encouragement. It’s a gracious gift to be able to encourage a fellow traveler. And it’s exciting to hear God speak through His word.