poetry

CrossWise Friendships. Part 2 of “A Simple Feast of Friendship”

CrossWise Friendships Mandy Thomas

I would like to introduce you to my friend Mandy Gervasi Thomas—photographer, nurse, poet, wife, and mom. I asked Mandy to collaborate with me on Chapter 9 of CrossWise Living: Navigating Transition. I pick up the chapter where I left off last time and Mandy’s voice will finish it.  


The Story Continues

A few years later, the phone rings and I hear the voice of Mandy, one of my visitors that pleasant evening. Married now for two years, she’s back in San Diego with her husband David for a short visit and wants to drop in for a few minutes that morning before they leave town.

Mandy and David arrive a few hours later with their new baby Judah, who has both a full diaper and an empty tummy. Things always seem to be going crosswise when there’s a new baby, and they’re running late. I suspect they might be hungry, as it’s way past lunchtime, and I’m pleased that they accept my invitation to join Jeff and me for a quick bite before they have to be on the road again. Fortunately, I’ve developed a new habit now that I’m cooking for just two—whenever I make soup, I double the batch and freeze it.

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Nighttime Prayers

Nighttime Prayers: Irene

Today’s guest blogger is my beloved brother, Dr. Ed Nelson. He is a research chemist by profession, but has the soul of a poet and the heart of a servant. He and his wife Janis demonstrate what it means to live a life of love as they selflessly care for their aging parents.

The piece featured below is especially meaningful to me. Many years ago, Irene prayed for the salvation of her daughter’s boyfriend, and then later, his wild -child sister. I am eternally grateful for the role she has played in my life as a spiritual mentor.


Nighttime Prayers

by Ed Nelson

My wife Janis desperately needed a night off, and so I encouraged her to take our daughter Corrie out to a movie. This left me with the job of putting my mother-in-law Irene, afflicted with Alzheimer’s, to bed. I pointed her toward the bathroom where she dutifully went in and brushed her teeth. It was sort of a messy business— I had to help her turn on the electric toothbrush and clean it and turn it off when done. Old age was taking its toll on her mind, and she was becoming less able, less aware, more confused with each passing day. I reminded her to put on her pajamas, and I went to repair her toothbrush.

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The Passion

The Passion. A response, poetic.

Heart wide-open,
Shocked open.
Agony of empathy
made every beat a pulsation of pain.
But then,
the balm was laid in
to the place of the open wound,
with a surgeon’s skill- this surely brought us
a comfort of peace.
What is this gift of God?

How can something so ethereal simply enter the ear
And soothe the soul that stretches inside a man,
From the roots of his hair to the nails of his toes?

The cruelest piercings ran head to toe.
Not a halo, but cursed thorns surrounded and
spilled a series of scarlet rivulets
that ran over his shoulders
and continued
down
to the place they would meet the
bruised heel,
held fast against the splintered wood
by the coarsest of nails.
Arms that did not need to be forced open
revealed the heart laid bare,
laid open and broken.

Just to watch,
Weeping,
My eyes as wide open as I could force them to be.
This was the smallest part of sharing in Your sufferings.

But most memorable on that most memorable of nights?
It was the comfort of Your love,
expressed from each to each.
Comforts were
warmth of firelight,
heat of sweet tea,
a meal marinated in gratitude
from the making to the receiving.
Warm dog eyes, breath, and the press of his head,
The silence of a togetherness of solitude.

And ultimately the music
that entered and did its work of washing,
giving us the only way possible to express the
fullness of our worship and Your worth.
Again You poured out your gift to us through
The heart and head and hands
of Your child ;
A collecting pool midway
down
the cascade.
We stood under the waterfall and felt the splash of refreshment.
First, a time to listen ,
Then a time to join in
In the song of our love
for You.
Our passion.

Your passion.

Gail Bones June 21, 2004

Isaiah 55:12

Isaiah 55:12 Tree
“You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.”
Isaiah 55:12