Jaci Turner
@scienematters.bsky.social
Commentary and poems of hope, courage & kindness and children’s author. ✍️ Follow to stay connected & see new work each week.
Only then
did the Church find its voice.
Not because the truth was new,
but because it could no longer
pretend not to hear it.
Some truths arrive early.
Some arrive late.
But the earliest ones
always begin
in the ordinary hearts
of people who see clearly
long before the world catches up.
did the Church find its voice.
Not because the truth was new,
but because it could no longer
pretend not to hear it.
Some truths arrive early.
Some arrive late.
But the earliest ones
always begin
in the ordinary hearts
of people who see clearly
long before the world catches up.
November 17, 2025 at 3:42 PM
Only then
did the Church find its voice.
Not because the truth was new,
but because it could no longer
pretend not to hear it.
Some truths arrive early.
Some arrive late.
But the earliest ones
always begin
in the ordinary hearts
of people who see clearly
long before the world catches up.
did the Church find its voice.
Not because the truth was new,
but because it could no longer
pretend not to hear it.
Some truths arrive early.
Some arrive late.
But the earliest ones
always begin
in the ordinary hearts
of people who see clearly
long before the world catches up.
Some were simply afraid
to be the first to speak.
And so the months went by—
eleven of them—
until the silence itself
became a kind of wound,
and even the sanctuaries
could feel the heat
of children taken,
families broken,
mercy rewritten as threat.
to be the first to speak.
And so the months went by—
eleven of them—
until the silence itself
became a kind of wound,
and even the sanctuaries
could feel the heat
of children taken,
families broken,
mercy rewritten as threat.
November 17, 2025 at 3:42 PM
Some were simply afraid
to be the first to speak.
And so the months went by—
eleven of them—
until the silence itself
became a kind of wound,
and even the sanctuaries
could feel the heat
of children taken,
families broken,
mercy rewritten as threat.
to be the first to speak.
And so the months went by—
eleven of them—
until the silence itself
became a kind of wound,
and even the sanctuaries
could feel the heat
of children taken,
families broken,
mercy rewritten as threat.
Measured their words
against the fear
of being called political,
against the weight
of their own divisions.
Some hoped the storm
would quiet itself.
Some didn’t want
to anger the people in the pews.
against the fear
of being called political,
against the weight
of their own divisions.
Some hoped the storm
would quiet itself.
Some didn’t want
to anger the people in the pews.
November 17, 2025 at 3:42 PM
Measured their words
against the fear
of being called political,
against the weight
of their own divisions.
Some hoped the storm
would quiet itself.
Some didn’t want
to anger the people in the pews.
against the fear
of being called political,
against the weight
of their own divisions.
Some hoped the storm
would quiet itself.
Some didn’t want
to anger the people in the pews.
A pastor spoke of mercy
on Inauguration Day,
her voice a lantern
in the middle of noon.
But one lantern
doesn’t move a building.
One voice
doesn’t turn a council.
They waited.
Debated.
on Inauguration Day,
her voice a lantern
in the middle of noon.
But one lantern
doesn’t move a building.
One voice
doesn’t turn a council.
They waited.
Debated.
November 17, 2025 at 3:41 PM
A pastor spoke of mercy
on Inauguration Day,
her voice a lantern
in the middle of noon.
But one lantern
doesn’t move a building.
One voice
doesn’t turn a council.
They waited.
Debated.
on Inauguration Day,
her voice a lantern
in the middle of noon.
But one lantern
doesn’t move a building.
One voice
doesn’t turn a council.
They waited.
Debated.
The danger was right there,
unblinking.
But institutions move
like old sanctuaries—
heavy stone,
cold steps,
an echo that takes its time
coming back.
unblinking.
But institutions move
like old sanctuaries—
heavy stone,
cold steps,
an echo that takes its time
coming back.
November 17, 2025 at 3:41 PM
The danger was right there,
unblinking.
But institutions move
like old sanctuaries—
heavy stone,
cold steps,
an echo that takes its time
coming back.
unblinking.
But institutions move
like old sanctuaries—
heavy stone,
cold steps,
an echo that takes its time
coming back.
In the end,
the truth is simple:
The real economy
is the story we live—
not the one they chart.
And someday,
I hope the people who make the graphs
learn how to read our lives.
the truth is simple:
The real economy
is the story we live—
not the one they chart.
And someday,
I hope the people who make the graphs
learn how to read our lives.
November 16, 2025 at 8:36 PM
In the end,
the truth is simple:
The real economy
is the story we live—
not the one they chart.
And someday,
I hope the people who make the graphs
learn how to read our lives.
the truth is simple:
The real economy
is the story we live—
not the one they chart.
And someday,
I hope the people who make the graphs
learn how to read our lives.
One believes it’s winning.
The other is just trying to breathe.
Maybe that’s why the country feels torn—
because we keep measuring success
with the wrong rulers,
forgetting that a rising market
is not the same
as a life that finally feels livable.
The other is just trying to breathe.
Maybe that’s why the country feels torn—
because we keep measuring success
with the wrong rulers,
forgetting that a rising market
is not the same
as a life that finally feels livable.
November 16, 2025 at 8:36 PM
One believes it’s winning.
The other is just trying to breathe.
Maybe that’s why the country feels torn—
because we keep measuring success
with the wrong rulers,
forgetting that a rising market
is not the same
as a life that finally feels livable.
The other is just trying to breathe.
Maybe that’s why the country feels torn—
because we keep measuring success
with the wrong rulers,
forgetting that a rising market
is not the same
as a life that finally feels livable.
where insurance feels like a riddle
no one ever solves.
It’s the economy shaped
by what we carry in our hands
and in our hearts—
worry, hope, endurance.
The quiet math
of ordinary people.
And sometimes I think
the two economies don’t even know
the other exists.
no one ever solves.
It’s the economy shaped
by what we carry in our hands
and in our hearts—
worry, hope, endurance.
The quiet math
of ordinary people.
And sometimes I think
the two economies don’t even know
the other exists.
November 16, 2025 at 8:35 PM
where insurance feels like a riddle
no one ever solves.
It’s the economy shaped
by what we carry in our hands
and in our hearts—
worry, hope, endurance.
The quiet math
of ordinary people.
And sometimes I think
the two economies don’t even know
the other exists.
no one ever solves.
It’s the economy shaped
by what we carry in our hands
and in our hearts—
worry, hope, endurance.
The quiet math
of ordinary people.
And sometimes I think
the two economies don’t even know
the other exists.
And then there is the other one—
the one we wake up inside.
The one in grocery aisles
where everything costs more
than it used to.
The one in kitchens
where rent sits heavy on the table
like an unpaid bill.
The one in cars
that need repairs we can’t afford,
and pharmacies
the one we wake up inside.
The one in grocery aisles
where everything costs more
than it used to.
The one in kitchens
where rent sits heavy on the table
like an unpaid bill.
The one in cars
that need repairs we can’t afford,
and pharmacies
November 16, 2025 at 8:35 PM
And then there is the other one—
the one we wake up inside.
The one in grocery aisles
where everything costs more
than it used to.
The one in kitchens
where rent sits heavy on the table
like an unpaid bill.
The one in cars
that need repairs we can’t afford,
and pharmacies
the one we wake up inside.
The one in grocery aisles
where everything costs more
than it used to.
The one in kitchens
where rent sits heavy on the table
like an unpaid bill.
The one in cars
that need repairs we can’t afford,
and pharmacies
This economy speaks in numbers
too clean to be real:
indexes, futures, gains.
It lives in boardrooms,
inside the language of people
who never wonder
how much milk costs
or what a missed paycheck means.
too clean to be real:
indexes, futures, gains.
It lives in boardrooms,
inside the language of people
who never wonder
how much milk costs
or what a missed paycheck means.
November 16, 2025 at 8:34 PM
This economy speaks in numbers
too clean to be real:
indexes, futures, gains.
It lives in boardrooms,
inside the language of people
who never wonder
how much milk costs
or what a missed paycheck means.
too clean to be real:
indexes, futures, gains.
It lives in boardrooms,
inside the language of people
who never wonder
how much milk costs
or what a missed paycheck means.
Let the walls remember us.
Let them remember the ones
who still know the difference
between honor
and glitter.
Let them remember the ones
who still know the difference
between honor
and glitter.
November 1, 2025 at 2:28 PM
Let the walls remember us.
Let them remember the ones
who still know the difference
between honor
and glitter.
Let them remember the ones
who still know the difference
between honor
and glitter.
And I am standing in these halls,
even from far away,
and I feel the weight of the second one.
This house was built
for the people.
The humble.
The tired.
The hopeful.
The broken.
The rebuilding.
Not for the man who wants the world
to know his hands have touched gold.
even from far away,
and I feel the weight of the second one.
This house was built
for the people.
The humble.
The tired.
The hopeful.
The broken.
The rebuilding.
Not for the man who wants the world
to know his hands have touched gold.
November 1, 2025 at 2:28 PM
And I am standing in these halls,
even from far away,
and I feel the weight of the second one.
This house was built
for the people.
The humble.
The tired.
The hopeful.
The broken.
The rebuilding.
Not for the man who wants the world
to know his hands have touched gold.
even from far away,
and I feel the weight of the second one.
This house was built
for the people.
The humble.
The tired.
The hopeful.
The broken.
The rebuilding.
Not for the man who wants the world
to know his hands have touched gold.
will say —
“He has earned his gold”?
No.
There is a kind of wealth
that makes a room warmer
because it is shared.
There is another
that makes the air heavy
because it demands to be seen.
“He has earned his gold”?
No.
There is a kind of wealth
that makes a room warmer
because it is shared.
There is another
that makes the air heavy
because it demands to be seen.
November 1, 2025 at 2:27 PM
will say —
“He has earned his gold”?
No.
There is a kind of wealth
that makes a room warmer
because it is shared.
There is another
that makes the air heavy
because it demands to be seen.
“He has earned his gold”?
No.
There is a kind of wealth
that makes a room warmer
because it is shared.
There is another
that makes the air heavy
because it demands to be seen.
Do you think this makes you king?
Do you think the mother
counting the cost of bread in the aisle
will look up at her phone
and whisper —
“Oh, look at him.
He is shining for us.”
Do you think the fathers
who have set aside their own hungers
to feed small mouths
Do you think the mother
counting the cost of bread in the aisle
will look up at her phone
and whisper —
“Oh, look at him.
He is shining for us.”
Do you think the fathers
who have set aside their own hungers
to feed small mouths
November 1, 2025 at 2:27 PM
Do you think this makes you king?
Do you think the mother
counting the cost of bread in the aisle
will look up at her phone
and whisper —
“Oh, look at him.
He is shining for us.”
Do you think the fathers
who have set aside their own hungers
to feed small mouths
Do you think the mother
counting the cost of bread in the aisle
will look up at her phone
and whisper —
“Oh, look at him.
He is shining for us.”
Do you think the fathers
who have set aside their own hungers
to feed small mouths
But now —
there is gold where there should be oak.
Gleam where there should be grace.
A mirror held up not to the people,
but to the man who believes
his reflection is the nation.
I want to ask him,
quietly,
the way one asks a child who has broken something sacred:
there is gold where there should be oak.
Gleam where there should be grace.
A mirror held up not to the people,
but to the man who believes
his reflection is the nation.
I want to ask him,
quietly,
the way one asks a child who has broken something sacred:
November 1, 2025 at 2:26 PM
But now —
there is gold where there should be oak.
Gleam where there should be grace.
A mirror held up not to the people,
but to the man who believes
his reflection is the nation.
I want to ask him,
quietly,
the way one asks a child who has broken something sacred:
there is gold where there should be oak.
Gleam where there should be grace.
A mirror held up not to the people,
but to the man who believes
his reflection is the nation.
I want to ask him,
quietly,
the way one asks a child who has broken something sacred:
someone finally remembers
what loyalty was supposed to mean.
what loyalty was supposed to mean.
October 21, 2025 at 12:58 PM
someone finally remembers
what loyalty was supposed to mean.
what loyalty was supposed to mean.
Every time they rise without merit,
the rest of us fall a little further—
into cynicism, exhaustion,
and the quiet fear
that integrity might never matter again.
But here’s the truth they can’t erase:
Every empire of loyalty
crumbles the moment
the rest of us fall a little further—
into cynicism, exhaustion,
and the quiet fear
that integrity might never matter again.
But here’s the truth they can’t erase:
Every empire of loyalty
crumbles the moment
October 21, 2025 at 12:58 PM
Every time they rise without merit,
the rest of us fall a little further—
into cynicism, exhaustion,
and the quiet fear
that integrity might never matter again.
But here’s the truth they can’t erase:
Every empire of loyalty
crumbles the moment
the rest of us fall a little further—
into cynicism, exhaustion,
and the quiet fear
that integrity might never matter again.
But here’s the truth they can’t erase:
Every empire of loyalty
crumbles the moment
We used to ask what someone knew—
now we just ask who they’ll kneel to.
Their résumés are short,
but their loyalty is long.
And somehow,
that’s enough to lead a nation.
They say critics “hate America.”
No—
we love it too much
to hand it to people
who can’t even spell decency.
now we just ask who they’ll kneel to.
Their résumés are short,
but their loyalty is long.
And somehow,
that’s enough to lead a nation.
They say critics “hate America.”
No—
we love it too much
to hand it to people
who can’t even spell decency.
October 21, 2025 at 12:57 PM
We used to ask what someone knew—
now we just ask who they’ll kneel to.
Their résumés are short,
but their loyalty is long.
And somehow,
that’s enough to lead a nation.
They say critics “hate America.”
No—
we love it too much
to hand it to people
who can’t even spell decency.
now we just ask who they’ll kneel to.
Their résumés are short,
but their loyalty is long.
And somehow,
that’s enough to lead a nation.
They say critics “hate America.”
No—
we love it too much
to hand it to people
who can’t even spell decency.
#TheWeekend Democracy depends on truth, but also on conscience. What happens when a nation begins to confuse cruelty for strength and apathy for freedom? Can democracy survive if moral courage becomes optional?
October 19, 2025 at 11:54 AM
#TheWeekend Democracy depends on truth, but also on conscience. What happens when a nation begins to confuse cruelty for strength and apathy for freedom? Can democracy survive if moral courage becomes optional?
So I will rise with voice and flame,
Refusing silence, fear, or shame.
Not just for me, but all who see,
This fight is for our liberty.
Refusing silence, fear, or shame.
Not just for me, but all who see,
This fight is for our liberty.
October 18, 2025 at 3:33 PM
So I will rise with voice and flame,
Refusing silence, fear, or shame.
Not just for me, but all who see,
This fight is for our liberty.
Refusing silence, fear, or shame.
Not just for me, but all who see,
This fight is for our liberty.
They dream a world that looks the same,
Then brand that sameness with God’s name.
But I was born to walk with all,
Not raise a flag to build a wall.
Not sell my soul for power’s grin,
Or guard a past soaked deep in sin.
Then brand that sameness with God’s name.
But I was born to walk with all,
Not raise a flag to build a wall.
Not sell my soul for power’s grin,
Or guard a past soaked deep in sin.
October 18, 2025 at 3:33 PM
They dream a world that looks the same,
Then brand that sameness with God’s name.
But I was born to walk with all,
Not raise a flag to build a wall.
Not sell my soul for power’s grin,
Or guard a past soaked deep in sin.
Then brand that sameness with God’s name.
But I was born to walk with all,
Not raise a flag to build a wall.
Not sell my soul for power’s grin,
Or guard a past soaked deep in sin.