Respecting the awesome power of words!

Wordsmithing

Here's a place where ordinary words attempt to reveal the extraordinary grace of life as we live it. Consume the words; breathe in the blank spaces; travel to the places they take you; enjoy the journey, and the people and places you meet along the way. In these relationships, may the meaning and purpose of your life become more clear.

Latest

Yet

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So many choices we have 
for what might be God’s utterance, 
when all seems done and 
the only thing left to say – 
the only thing allowed 
to be said – is a single word.

Powerful and compassionate verbs 
come to mind, as do 
unique and tender nouns, 
or maybe adjectives, 
or some other eloquent string 
of letters and syllables 
possessing unmatched beauty.

Even so, I know 
the word is “Yet.”

Yet, in its not-quite, 
still-to-come sense, 
holding out possibility 
in the presence of nothingness, 
or even in the face 
of every imaginable oppositeness.

Yet, in its 
“You’ve blazed a long trail 
in the opposite direction 
from where you need to be, 
and missed what’s been 
in front of your face all along, 
so turn around.” sense.

God’s word is “Yet.” 
I’m still trying 
to get used to it.

© 2018 Todd Jenkins
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Here We Are

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I wanted my words
to make a difference;
not just the words
that leaked out of my mouth
in the heat of the moment,

but the words that seeped
out of my veins, carrying parts
of me from the deepest places
I’ve yet to plumb,

when your pain stabbed me
with the dull side of its blade,
its razor edge sunk
to the hilt in your heart.

I wanted my blood
to make a difference;
but it didn’t.

At least, it didn’t effect
the wispy dream of reconciliation
I constructed with letters,
punctuation, and space —
lots of space.

So, here we are,
on the far side of words —
on the dried side of blood —
and the wet side of tears;

still groping for the edge
of the grave,
still hoping for breath
not squeezed tight
by pain and rejection.

Here we are.

Here we are.

© 2018 Todd Jenkins

Siblings

lpatrick2Photo by Linda Patrick

 

“Justice and peace
will kiss each other."
- Psalm 85:10

Justice and Peace embrace
in a warm hug and
double-cheek kiss

because they’re long-lost siblings,
separated soon after birth
by cultures, societies, nations,
and people who cannot see
and believe God’s generosity
and extravagance;

a blind disbelieving which tilts
the world toward selfishness,
greed, anxiety, and fear.

In the tension of such shrinking,
their (J’s & P’s) mother
had to ship them off
to separate family members
to be raised, while she
continually cleans up the messes
and patches the rent fabric
in societies that
tiny-hearted people create.

At least, that’s
the story I’m dreaming.

© 2018 Todd Jenkins

Out of Darkness

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We use the word holy
to name that which
we know primarily as pure,
powerful, and other;

mystery, to describe
that which hasn't yet
revealed itself to us;

and sacred, to define
experiences in which
we've been so close
to the holy and mysterious
that we've felt
breath on our necks.

Do we ever experience
any of these anywhere
other than in the dark?

Try to help me remember this
the next time clouds obscure
the moon and stars,
and my knees begin to knock.

© 2018 Todd Jenkins

 

Borrowed Ears

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(a preacher’s dream/hope for a new year)

 

Some folks are great
at telling stories
with their mouths.

Theirs are the most detailed
and most accurate.

They are also the longest
and often the most boring,
stumbling and fumbling
over facts irrelevant
to both the point of the story
and their listeners.

Other people are great
at regaling you
with their own ears,
keenly aware of how
their tales make them appear
 in the eyes of their audience.

Whatever else you’ve learned
when they are finished,
you now see them
in a more ethereal light.

Help me, O Lord, learn how
to unfold narratives
using borrowed ears,
so my listeners hear,
not me or
my most presentable self
or their pretend selves,
but their deepest, richest selves
in the story.

Even more, let their ears
tell me how to verbally reveal
glimpses of grace,
calling us all to a hope
that is deeper, broader,
more connective,
and more accessible
than before vocal chords strummed
and ear drums beat
in synchronized rhythm.

© 2018 Todd Jenkins

 

I Remember Your Name

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Those who’ve loved and left
by way of death’s door
are not really lost.

I call to them,
call on them,
recall them
in so many ways.

The names of love
are like decorations
for the tree;

ones I’ve had
for years; ones
whose stories have
made me who I am.

If I leave them
in the attic
or the basement,
their memories will not
stay in the box.

They drift in and out
of moments and conversations,
deep and rich as ever;
never nameless,
no matter what,
even when I struggle
to not say them.

I remember your name,
and in its speaking,
who I’ve been
shapes both who I am
and who I will become.

I remember your name,
and as it’s vocalized,
life is breathed once more,
in me, through me,
beyond me.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

Intercession

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For a weakened  heart
  we intercede, O Lord.
    May it be like electricity
    in an old house,
    steadily pumping current,
    whether all the wires
  are firmly connected
or not.

For fragile lungs
  we intercede, O breath
    of wind and spirit.
    May they function like
    an HVAC system
    of an historic structure,
  pumping air, in spite
of cracked and leaky ductwork.

For struggling kidneys,
  we intercede, O God.
    May they be like plumbing
    in a long-lived-in home,
   steadfastly moving water and waste,
  despite occasionally-leaking
joints and fixtures.

Keep this house
  in order, O holy one,
    with all the wisdom, compassion,
    and understanding that
    the medical community can bluster,
    while we pray with all
  the hope we can muster.
Amen.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

Sacred Posture

IMG_7574Photo by Anne Shurley

 

Our traditional positioning
for prayer has hands palm-to-palm,
fingers aimed skyward,
as if we arc our words —
and maybe our hearts —
heavenward, to pierce the skies
with intercession on behalf
of others and self,
aiming plaintive and joyous arrows
into the Divine throne room.

Today, however, I am drawn
to a different manual posture:
palms up, cupped, side by side,
as if I am holding loved ones
up closer to my heart,
but still clearly on cosmic display,
a reminder of our specific brokenness
and a request for holy healing;

also as if crystal water
were being poured into my hands —
if not my soul —
refreshing us in all
our parched places.

Fill us with your grace,
O holy one.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

 

Vintage

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When I see them appear
in the corner of an eye,
it makes me wonder
what year they’re from;

what story is long buried
beneath the surface,
in the attic or the basement
or the back of a huge wardrobe,

where someone thought
they’d never be found;
but something happens;

a series of seemingly
unrelated events:

a song sung in just
the way you remembered;

or the wafting essence
of bread being baked
or the scent a favorite cuisine
you haven’t had in years;

or the way the light comes
through the trees;
or some other dormant trigger.

There we find ourselves,
tears flowing like
an artesian well,

conjuring up emotional baggage
from eons ago,

begging us to uncork
vintage love, pain, and grief,
and sip our way
through a story
of healing,
if not resurrection.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

3 Rivers

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Life consists of a journey
between and beyond three rivers;
the first is named Patience;
another, Preparation;
the third, Perseverance.

The first river has
neither bridges
nor is it fordable.
It asks you to wait
while someone constructs
a way to cross.
Maybe, you become the builder.

The second river also seems
impossible to cross.
It wants you to be sure
you know how to swim
before you jump in.

The third river is no more
crossable than the first two.
It wants to know if you're
hungry enough to jump,
and trusting enough to float.

The rivers already know you.
How are you
getting to know them?

© 2017 Todd Jenkins