More Poetry

Pearls and Dreams

Today is Palm Sunday. The week before Christ died, he had dinner at Lazerus' house, and Mary, washed his feet with precious oil. Judas was appalled that she chose to use this oil to wash his feet instead of selling it to feed the poor. Leaving aside Judas' motives for his anger, Mary's washing feet with oil seems such an odd thing in our society, yet, then, it wasn't odd. They walked around everywhere in sandals. Washing feet was a necessity and it was a symbol of servanthood & submission. Using the oil that was fragrant and sweet would have been comforting and no different than todays hand massage or pedicure.

Today, I was sitting in church, not really able to understand too much of the sermon, too busy interpreting for the deaf man who's been coming. My comprehension flies out the window when he comes. After the sermon, every week, people are given the opportunity of coming to the front to pray at the alters, either alone or with someone. I rarely go forward, but today, after this past week, and my husband's bad news at the doctors, I went to the pastor.
Don didn't go to church with me this morning, he said he was too tired. Didn't feel good ... I wasn't sure, was it more of his just not wanting to go, pulling into a shell ... or was it real ...and then, much to my dismay, he got up to go to the bathroom and used his cane. He rarely uses his cane in the house. Almost never. I knew he was exhausted. So, I asked the pastor to pray ... with me for Don, for me, for my heart testing that I didn't think was scaring me ...but is, for everything ... and as he prayed I did something I rarely do ... I cried. I really cried and suddenly, Pastor R's arms were around my shoulders ... and I cried harder.

So tonight, I'm going to bed, with my emotions close to the surface, and I'm praying to God, reminding him that I need to pour out my pain and my fear ... and that I need HIM to wipe it clean and comfort me ..

What more appropriate time than Palm Sunday to need to remember this poem of mine?

At The Feet of Jesus
by Peggikaye Eagler

The perfume left the bottle,
The fragrance filled the air.
With tears her worship was given,
As she wiped His feet with her hair.


The perfume so fragrant and sweet,
Costly oil she’d had to buy
She poured it on His feet with love,
Did she know He was soon to die?


As she poured her heart with the oil,
Her worship was in the right place,
Kneeling at His feet so humbly,
Tears slipping down her face.


A picture for us to live by,
To Worship Christ Jesus the King.
Anoint His feet with my worship,
With honor and praise I sing.


I pour out my pain and fear,
And He wipes it with his blood.
A clean heart with which to give Him,
As His presence comes in like a flood.


To Jesus, my gift is Worship.
Honor and trust on my knees.
I thank You Jesus for taking,
My love, my gift, and my pleas.


Each day I will strive to remember,
Mary pouring her heart on His feet.
And praises I will lift with Joy,
Glorious Praises, I will often repeat.


© Peggikaye Eagler