Here is Love

Here is love, vast as the ocean
Lovingkindness as the flood
When the Prince of Life, our Ransom
Shed for us His precious blood
Who His love will not remember?
Who can cease to sing His praise?
He can never be forgotten
Throughout Heav'n's eternal days

On the mount of crucifixion
Fountains opened deep and wide
Through the floodgates of God's mercy
Flowed a vast a gracious tide
Grace and love, like mighty rivers
Poured incessant from above
And Heav'n's peace and perfect justice
Kissed a guilty world in love

I first heard this song years ago, sung by Eden's Bridge, and remember how it moved me. And now I know why. It embodies everything amazing about God's love and His priceless gift, celebrated at Easter. And it still moves me.

Nancy Perkins
Easter 2013

The Second Half

I just finished listening to a set of CD's by Richard Rohr and Paula D'Arcy called, Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life. They have changed my life by giving me vocabulary and assistance in recognizing the changes that are already taking place in me. I wrote this poem after the final CD.

Oh Love of Loves

We have been reunited

And all that I have known of Love

is now complete.

My first Love—

You loved me when I first took form

inside my mother

and You breathed Your breath

into my tiny cells.

And all my life You’ve waited

through my wounds and pitfalls

through my staged attempts

at piety and faith.

And here at last

I finally fell across the threshold

into outstretched wings

that fold and hold me

in Your heart.

The blinders off

the scales removed

there’s no more wanting;

Your love flows through my heart

and out into my life

Oh, Love of Loves.

Nancy Perkins
March 2013

Winter Skies: Poems & Pictures

Everything is Gray
1/30/13

Everything is dead
and gray
and cold
Even the sun--
the brightest star
Can't break
through the
dense heavy gray.
Only my candle
glows with warmth
in my space
And tiny
purple flowers
bloom bravely
on the
windowsill.

It's Gray Again

2/8/13

It's gray again--

in fact grayer still

and now it's wet

as well

Yesterday

a bright pink streak

at the edge of earth

made attempts

to overcome

the clouds

but grayness won.

I take hope 

from the street light

and the sparkling

string of lights--

leftovers from

Christmas--

on my neighbor's tree.

Oh, Spring!

please come soon

and end this

eternal gray.

I passed by my quiet space

2/10/13

I passed by my quiet space

on my way to wash my face

and I was drawn

as with a child's tugging hand

to approach

and sit and bask

in the golden light

streaming through the

windows facing south and east

The mighty sun

has won the tug-of-war

with clouds and gray

and today reigns supreme

King of the sky

Even the bare winter

branches reflect the glow

and me,

I can't stop smiling

as I sip my coffee

and think about the day.

Redemption

 3/1/13

I'm not a fan of winter and yet, somehow this year,

while growling at the chill and cold,

my gaze was drawn upward and for once,

I noticed the beauty of winter skies.

I mean, really; I almost ran off the highway more than once

trying to get one more glance at an amazing streak or cloud.

From dawn until sundown--or shall I say from gray to grayer still--

the changing of the heavens could drive an artist to distraction, 

each pattern and design somehow more engaging and beautiful.

I still don't like the cold, but the skies have won me over...

Maybe it's redemption of those bitter January days 

When loved ones left this place

and moved beyond.

Hope Springs in February

I passed by my quiet space
on my way
to wash my face
and I was drawn
as with a child's tugging hand
to approach
and sit and bask
in the golden light
streaming through the
window facing south and east

The mighty sun has won the
tug-of-war with clouds and gray
and today reigns supreme
Queen of the blue sky
Even the bare winter
branches reflect the glow
and me,
I can't stop smiling
as I sip my coffee
and think about the day

Gray

Written Friday, 2/8/13

It's gray--again

in fact grayer still

and now it's

wet as well

Yesterday

a bright pink streak

at the edge of earth

made attempts

to overcome

the clouds

but gray-ness won

I take hope

from the street light

and the sparkling

string of lights--

leftovers from Christmas--

on my neighbor's tree

across my backyard fence

Oh, Spring

please come soon

and end this

eternal gray

A Winter Gift of Joy

How precious this gift
of my daughter's presence
while she breaks from university
To turn and find her standing there
wanting nothing, just closeness
Rich conversation as she seeks to
find her path of faith
from religions fraught with
baggage of mankind
Still struggling with identity
but step-by-step gaining bits of authenticity
Still hating but yet here to losing ground
to compassion and grace
How does one, at nineteen, have
such style
such courage to state belief
and not back down
Such strength to study hard, work
long, and still hit the pavement
running--even in the cold
Yes indeed
a precious gift
this baby child of mine
I'll miss her when she moves
back to Diamond St and
Temple and Starbucks...
remembering when I sip my coffee.

Last month, as my mother lay dying, April drove me each evening after work, to Landis Homes, and sat and read and waited for me. She kept the fires burning at home, some times literally with a welcoming fire in the fireplace when I got home from work. She was sleeping in mother's room with me the night my mother died. I could not have made it through that week without her presence and companionship. I am grateful. I wrote this poem a week before mother became unresponsive and subsequently passed to eternity.

Psalm for Saturday

I agree with David

The earth is the Lord’s

Who else could cuddle me close           

            in this little valley

Surrounding me with leafy sentinels

            for my protection and delight

Spreading bluest sky overhead

Broken only by the rays of sun

Which warm me in the midst

            of barely chilly breeze

He called to me from the

            bottom of the stairs—

            Go out the front door—

And I went

            following the inner urge

To a seat I never noticed before

Arranged just so I could

Have a glorious sight

The pines, the oaks, the autumn sky

The crickets, birds and occasional bee

The smell of cut grass

The toasty warmth of sun

It’s all mine

It’s all His

And He is mine.

9/09 Jesuit Center

Found this poem tucked away in my journal, written while on Retreat at the Jesuit Center. Just this morning I was again moved by God's presence...I wrote "When I sit down in my place this morning, I am immediately overwhelmed with the love of my Father. I think of Richard Rohr's comments of God being both-and, and it's so true. Here I sit in this simple corner bedroom, not-so-clean windows and my leafy African violets, and of course, my warm coffee. And I am moved to tears by the love of God pouring through my window and swirling around this wicker chair, wrapping me in its warmth. Simple and profound...all true."