I’ve been out of school for four years and I still carry a backpack everywhere I go.
When I ask other people to hold it for me, their eyes grow wide as they realize
What I’ve shouldered across my small frame as long as they’ve known me.
My shoulders are strong.
Sometimes it's hard to gauge just how much weight you’ve carrying until you put it down.
Last Thursday, I found myself walking into the doors of a church of my own volition for the first time in months.
It was an exhale. It was coming up for air.
It was the first time I walked into a church and felt like more than a specter.
I was fully there. I cried a lot.
And with saltwater baptismal pools brimming in my eyes, I took communion and was welcomed to the table.
A priest and an elder saw me standing in a pew by myself in this moment of divine providence and locked eyes with me.
I didn’t look away. It was the first time in years I can remember not looking away from a faith leader’s gaze.
They came back later to wrap me in mom hugs and smiles.
I hadn't had those in a while.
The wax of my trauma holding me together melted into the incense of their vestments.
Sometimes, life affords me moments when I can manage to forget if only for an instant that by existing I am a political statement.
And I never really liked politics. Maybe that’s why I have such a hard time.
I’m lasered in on these out breaths of discovering my Pride.
Tables where the Eucharist is broken for me, and tables of hard conversations.
In taking photos with each other and offering forgiveness.
In the sweat of building bridges and the still of prayers for healing
I’m the ice cream of my favorite Oreo Ice Cream Sandwich on a hot summer day
The happiest leaky heart basking in the sun
And between the whisper of “I love you.” from God, and the whisper of “I love you.” from inside, I’ve found
A heart that leaks, “I love you.” The greatest commandment.
My Pride is my body, this prayer box of a house
Built in worship of a caricature by a person who was never expected to live there.
And yet I am still showing up here, ready to share. What redemption.
All pillar, and stone and open window. Let them see.
All unlocked door, and gritted tooth, and grin. Let them in.
Old insecurities now newfound confidence.
I have raised this altar stone by stone,
Wall by wall from the smooth granite I unearthed in people I dared to trust
This is borne from pain and humility and grace and hope.
And the glory is so thoroughly honest that I am finally sleeping soundly at night.
I have built sanctuary. I am creating home.
It's funny how habits can convince us to carry things that are long since unnecessary
I am just now learning to let them go.