Tough and Tender

He wanted you to think he was tough,

and spoke his mind whether

anyone cared to listen or not.

Yet, beneath that armored exterior

lay a vulnerable soul simply desiring

and struggling to love and be loved;

but as afraid as the rest of us

that the immutable requirement

and byproduct of knowing

and truly being known

would somehow nullify that love.

He was as thirsty for grace as any of us

on our most parched days and,

likewise as susceptible

to its surprising and unbidden

overflowing on unpredictable occasions.

Cheers and thanks be to God

for those times and places,

people and spaces where

unassuming love shone through

between and around us, in spite of ourselves;

and especially for the way

our remembering the illuminating glow

of those lightning flashes,

to this day and into the future,

still lifts us above our own doubt

and self-loathing, up into

the merciful arms of hope.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

In memory of Louis Strickland Roberts II

Mulligans

I'm beginning to understand why

generations overlap, running two and three deep

before the baton of life's relay is finally passed.

It's more than the need for continuity

and the passing of history,

though these have their place.

One of the critical purposes

of imbricating generations is for mulligans.

Our "handling" of the

immediately succeeding generation

is always fraught with the foibles

we inherited from our own parents.

We push and pull too hard,

holding to demanding standards,

in hopes that our own shortcomings

will somehow be ameliorated.

But it is too late when we realize

that we have mostly repeated history

 and, more importantly, that

we have missed far too many

opportunities to celebrate life.

And then we get a second chance

with great nieces and nephews,

grandchildren and, if genetics

and circumstances intersect serendipitously,

maybe even an additional generation.

It's not just a softening or weakness

of old age that fortifies our gentleness,

as so many assume, but also

a long-in-the-tooth premonition

that grace is both

the final question and its answer.

May we acquire this holy grail

in sufficient supply

 to replant the tender shoot

torn from our youth by well-meaning parents;

and also find wisdom to recognize,

in the waning tenderness of our own twilight,

not just forgiveness for self and others,

but also hope beyond imagining.

 In such an awakening,

resurrection looms as bright

and grace-filled as

the most amazing Easter sunrise.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Centered

Faith is the single hope,

both fearful and magnetically compelling,

calling us beyond the spiraling vortex of destruction

that places self at the center of the universe.

Centering, then, is about

recognizing other at creation's core,

and finding joy in the weaving

of self into the periphery.

For it is at the outer bounds

that our orbit finds its intended purpose

in interaction with others.     

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Furniture Talk

When the feng shui of my drama-cile

doesn't accommodate furniture

from yours, let us neither

curl all-but index digits in accusation

nor pitch vocal chords to escalation.

May we find room and time, instead,

to sit with grace upon a porch swing

overlooking our own lives' valley,

allowing the sun to set and rise upon us

as we, together, quilt a slip-cover from

the patchwork of our shared story.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Holy Hoarding

Reeling from a loss both real

and imagined, trumped-up and palpable,

she clutches programs and possessions,

discarding connections and relationships,

sure of only two things:

everything in the past was better;

nothing in the future will be as worthy;

not because she is shallow or selfish,

but because pain is so disorienting,

that her grieving heart cannot

fathom surviving another loss.

As the publications and furniture pile up,

space for her children diminishes.

History's inventory and cataloging

have become a consuming fire;

room at the table shrinks.

Stacking stones against a sea

of change, not seeing that all mortar

is a futile attempt to capture freedom,

and rigidity leaves no room for beauty or

for tide to sweep us toward the Universe;

avoiding the deeps where grace

shines as the only path toward hope.

Who knew that her groom's absence

would expose such vulnerability?

Whose idea was it to send

unpredictable sister in his stead?

Don't think for a minute

that you will do any better.

Pray for the day when

the whole family comes back;

not to indulge her for

another holiday ritual

whose power has faded

like old Polaroids in the sun,

as method is mistaken for message;

but to profess undying love

and wholehearted commitment

to yard sales, until there is room

for all generations at the table,

so bread and wine may once again

seal water's covenant blessing.

Until that dawning arrives,

hopeful sister-in-law hovers heart to heart,

fanning long-gray coals with truth

that time and space cannot contain.

She is our mother, our sister.

She is our church.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Fireweed

Prayer Warriors abound,

but for Prayer Poets we plead.

Death's stench is all around;

showers of silence we need.

Give us the space at the table

for old words to be re-shaped

into new shelters capable

of storying unimaginable horror

into, not only breath for today,

but hope for tomorrow.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Escalation

Why is it, O God, that we

find ourselves mired in

the swamp of emotionally

charged hyperbole when

our culture's most violent practices

 surface in the headlines?

Is it the very nature of blood-lust

to amp our psychological appetites,

as if we couldn't stomach

its vitriol without the anesthesia

of relentless onslaught?

Deliver us, O Lord,

from the myth that

might makes right;

from the seduction that

crucifixion can be sustained

by more powerful weaponry;

from the illusion that

love is too weak to overcome

all fear, anxiety, and hopelessness.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Hatred as Religion

In the course of

human interconnectedness

there comes a time when

deeply held convictions

must be closely examined,

if for no other reason than

their ability to create enmity.

Messiah was never intended

as a nightstick for pummeling

others into submission.

When religious beliefs are

politically, publicly pursued

to the point of creating hostile environs

for those believing otherwise,

we are no longer a nation

of religious freedom,

but of religious hatred.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Choose

Hatred is the hell that kills

a little more of you each day,

leaving less of you for Joy to find.

Fear is the anxiety that prevents

Hope from getting out of bed

in the morning and getting dressed.

Guilt is the stuffing that suffocates

the future and anesthetizes the present

by refusing to let go of the past.

Love is the relationship that expands

Joy in you when you dare to give it away.

Trust is the foundation on which Hope operates.

Grace is today's path toward tomorrow

cut and cleared by another's gift.

Choose each day which you will accompany.

Leave the others behind.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins