Word Plow

When will you learn to accept

the unconditional love of who you are,

and realize that these words

and phrases do not define you;

that they are, instead, what you

have been gifted for connection?

When will you let them go

with less anxiety for how you are received

and more peace about how they might

open those with ears to sense

their own connectedness

to the vastness of their own enoughness?

Don’t you see how they emerge;

how you type them and return to them

over and over, as if you are the one

who can decide when they are ready –

as if you can somehow perfect them?

Yet there is a deeper place

which knows that these words

come from beyond you;

and that your returning is not

for the sake of others,

but for your own, so that you

can learn to absorb and live them.

What if the words and their worth

belong to the universe?

What if your primary task

is to sift through the collections,

looking for the places where

your own and others’ pain

have created sacred spaces

for the words to rest?

What if your calling is to cast them

on ground that life’s plow has turned-up –

your own, and others’ –

and let the universe do the rest?

Photo by Todd Jenkins

© 2014 Todd Jenkins

Illumination

When the light fades,

be it literally or figuratively,

how will you respond to the darkness?

Your mind will shift into overdrive,

your other senses will stumble,

and you will be at a crossroads.

One direction leads to shrinking

and withdrawal in fear.

Absent visual confirmation,

it's easy to question your remaining

senses' ability to keep you safe.

The other path leads to creativity

and abundance in hope.

Learning to see more than

your eyes ever could

opens the floodgates of imagination,

awakening your soul to images

heretofore only available in your dreams.

When the view from the shadows emerges,

you'll wonder how you ever

could have settled for daylight.

Photo by Holly Jane Jenkins

© 2014 Todd Jenkins

Offering

Photo by Todd Jenkins

We confess, O God, 

that we’re really good 

at offering you advice. 

We go through the motions 

of handing things over to you, 

but when we think no one’s looking, 

we try to take them back. 

We have a hard time, 

O Lord, seeing beyond 

our own hopes and dreams; 

and these are so easily 

colored and limited by our own 

experiences and understandings.

In your gentle mercy, O God, 

open our ears, eyes, and hearts 

to the grand plans and promises 

that you have had for us 

since before we were born; 

through Jesus Christ, 

the prince of peace and 

dreamer of resurrection. Amen. 

© 2014 Todd Jenkins

Pasture

The whack-a-mole feeling

of stray-dogging too many

Whistlers' Conventions,

week after week,

squeezes daily spiritual practice  

from both ends of the candle.

Seeking to be present to those

expecting CEO mentality, those

facing imminent death's reality, those

facing consequence's eventuality,

I stir modernity's espresso

with the steamed milk

of scripture through a week

of random rainbow encounters,

across the broad spectrum

of planning for all ranges

and committees of infinite variety,

hoping a sermon latte will appear

for Sunday worship's scone. 

What did you do all week?

Photo by Todd Jenkins

© 2014 Todd Jenkins

Focus

Seems like we are forever

double-checking the deadbolt

while God is wafting the world

in through the ductwork.

Forgive us when we fail

to live as you created us, O God.

Give us courage

to not allow the phobias

of our id to become

the focus of our faith.  

Protect us from confusing

the method for the message;

keep us gasping for the inspiration

of your challenging interpretation.

Photo by Jennie Roberts Jenkins

© 2014 Todd Jenkins

Different

Did you ever stop to think

how the world might be different

if the people who designed

some of the amazing things

we take for granted had done so

in completely different ways?

Take time, for instance,

instead of letting it always take you.

What if our calendars and clocks,

were attuned to the solar system

rather than atomically rhythmic?

What if the hands on our watches

sped up and slowed down

to match both the seasons

and our particular location

on the planet, leaving us

with forever-flexing hours, but

completely predictable tides and moons?

A man in Alaska during the summer

would shake his auto-winder

or try to replace his digital batteries

as drudging, hourly-paid labor

seemed to be frozen.

A woman in Argentina's winter

would wonder where the time flew

as she tried to accomplish

her daily to-do list.

But maybe that's our experience

anyway, as our focus

and perspective wax and wane.

Perhaps it’s our enslavement

to metered predictability

that stands between our hearts

and the surprising path

to unpredictable joy.

Photo by Lee Lindsey McKinney

© 2014 Todd Jenkins

In Us

When difficult conversations come,

give us grace to avoid escalation.

Give us peace and serenity

to set aside our preconception,

built on a selective history

of presumption’s cracked foundation.

Give us clarity to focus not on what

we want to say next, but to hear

what’s really being said and

the words between the lines;

words not spoken, but buried

in too deep and scary a place to visit,

where layers of pain and betrayal

have been piled upon them.

Give us security in the knowledge

of who we are and who we’re not.

Give us more than us.

Give us you in us.

Photo by Todd Jenkins

© 2014 Todd Jenkins

Questions

Photo by Todd Jenkins

You and I will learn

very little about one another

or anything else, for that matter,

if all we do is ask questions for which

we have already determined

right and wrong answers.

The best we can do

with this kind of interchange

is to determine how much

we agree and disagree;

the worst is to pass judgment.

If, however, we inquire

in ways that require stories,

and not the kind that come

from books, but from

our own life experiences,

then we open the door

to deepen our relationship;

and that’s why we’re breathing.

© 2014 Todd Jenkins

Lenten Call to Worship

Photo by Todd Jenkins

 One: The memory of penitential ashes

has long-faded and we are still

journeying toward Jerusalem.

Many: At many stops along the way,

we have been tempted to tarry,

being nearly overcome

by the seduction of comfort.

One: But Jesus pushes on,

his pace quickening,

encouraging us to endure.

Many: There is even a promise

of gift-beyond-imagination

 that waits at journey’s end.

All: Let us stay the course for a little longer,

holding on, come cross or high water.

NUMB3RS

Flight 370, Boeing 777, 239 passengers:

digits we use to identify

the specifics of our conversations.

Black boxes, satellite pings, radar images:

short-hand we use to describe

our distant communication techniques.

Faces, stories, families:

the truth of who we are

and why we’re here;

building blocks for our hope.

Lord, hear our prayers!

Photo by Lee Lindsey McKinney

© 2014 Todd Jenkins

Showing Up

Singing in the face

of evil, chaos, and uncertainty

is what defines faith.

Not just singing

any old tune or lyrics;

but belting out melodies

that hauntingly dare us

to step toward the darkness,

and lyrics which proclaim,

in spite of the appearance

of current circumstances,

that fear, anxiety, hatred, scarcity

are not gaining momentum.

They are, instead, screaming vestiges

of evil who already know

that love has won.

Sing on, sisters and brothers;

the world is dying to claim

the courage of this opus,

where new is not replacement

but resurrection to something

we’ve yet the wherewithal to imagine.

Photo by Lee Lindsey McKinney

© 2014 Todd Jenkins

Shifting Gears

How do we move along

the life-cycle continuum from

identity-by-productivity

to retirement? By resting in grace.

Not by devaluing accomplishments,

real or imagined.

Not with bifurcation

of being and doing,

as if life is an

either/or proposition.

Perhaps the integration

of motion and matter 

offers us a clue:

even when it appears

that a solid is motionless,

there is constant movement

at the molecular level.

As time pedantically marches onward,

making us feel increasingly left behind,

may we more and more find

and rest in the energy of creation,

trusting God to finish and redirect

our own history and efforts

into the universe’s holy purposes.

Photo by DeEtta Harris Jenkins

© 2014 Todd Jenkins

12 yEARS A mOM (wITH cANCER)

Photo by Lee Lindsey McKinney

It wasn't ever supposed

to happen like this.

Not for anyone.

And yet here we are, eye witnesses,

ear witnesses, heart witnesses.

Time seems so cruel,

first for its seeming speed,

now for its snail's pace.

And then there's God.

They say the first half of life

is for container-building,

the second half for filling.

Seems like that's all screwed-up here:

all filled-up and no time to share,

all used up and no time to spare.

So now, we hold it all

with sieve-like hands,

watching it pour out,

helpless to do anything

but hope and pray

our way toward you, O God;

helpless without your grace;

becoming more and more aware

that it's not so much

our holding on that matters,

as our being held.

© 2014 Todd Jenkins