Joining the flow
A little neighborhood river work
It’s raining today.
In Oregon.
In November.
Surprise.
This morning I walked around the neighborhood taking pictures of gorgeous red and orange leaves, half on the ground and half on the tree.
Clumps of wet leaves lined the curbs, blocking the flow of water to the drains. Realizing I had my rain boots on, I went to several drains and cleared the leaves back. It felt so satisfying to see the water move again! The water knew exactly what to do once the obstacle was removed.
Last week, my faith community explored the idea of river work. We can think of healthy community as a river with Love flowing through it. The river’s been there before we arrived and it’ll be there long after we’re gone. We’re simply invited to join the flow of the current.
We talked about movement in the river and how it’s a sign of life, even though we sometimes feel it as a threat.
I invited people to reflect on their part in the river in this season. I’ll offer you the same questions.
Headwaters: Those who are becoming our elders and saints. You’ve been through a lot of life and you have great wisdom to offer.
Riverbanks: Maybe you help shape and hold community by reminding us of our values and our boundaries.
Current: You embody much of our energy and direction. You help lead and guide us.
Deep Pools: Maybe you show us how to rest and reflect. You help us go deeper than we might on our own.
Rapids: Your vital questions and curiosities usher in seasons of change, challenge, growth, and learning.
Riverbed stones: You are our faithful and consistent people who are steady. You support everything about this movement.
Tributaries: Maybe you’re new to this river. You’re bringing new ideas and different perspectives that will deepen the flow of the river.
Delta: You receive the impact of this river beyond the community. It flows where it will!
The best news? No one is the whole river! Some are calm pools. Some are white-water energy. Some are bedrock stability. Some are quiet tributaries that bring life in unexpected ways.
So you might see why I found it so satisfying to gently clear away debris and watch the stagnant water move again.
On the days it doesn’t feel like we’re making one iota of progress toward justice and love for all people, it made my heart so happy to move wet leaves. To care gently for my neighbors and our street. To help our systems run a little more smoothly for our collective good.
I’m curious. Are there limiting beliefs that you might be ready to question? If they were untangled and removed, what might start flowing again?
Sending all the love in the world,
Jenny
This Week
Books
Gently Fierce: Poems of Faith, Rage & Holy Imagination
A collection of urgent, tender poems from a neurodivergent pastor writing through the unraveling of America, naming grief as sacred and offering embodied, fierce love as a path into collective healing.There She Is: Love Notes on Finding Home
A gentle, honest collection of poems tracing one woman’s journey through change and vulnerability toward rediscovering her inner strength and self-love, inviting readers to tenderly meet themselves in the places that ache and shimmer.Still Here: A Poetry Memoir on Grief & Love
A tender, unflinching collection of poems written in the first year after a brother’s death, walking through the shock and ache of grief toward the quiet truth that love endures and the ones we lose remain with us as we learn to live again.
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The Thread
The Thread is a weekly-ish newsletter where we untangle the stories that make us who we are so we can show up to our lives with spacious presence, brave honesty, radical love & wild curiosity.
'Tis one of your best for these times with its inclusive interconnected insight and flow. I love the use of nature as metaphor. Thank you. ❤️
I enjoyed this, Jenny…thanks!