Aching heart. Aching beauty

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blesse are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy,
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kind of evil against you falsely on my account." Matthew 5:3-12

I sat down at this desk to write and before I typed a word on this screen Thomas ran in, from outside, screaming.  He fell, scraping his knee and hands, pleading for my care.  Loud and high pitched I pulled a bandaid from my wallet.

My dear friend is newly in the throes of grieving.  Her heart lays splayed open, surrounded by people too young and ill prepared to hear her needs.  As if being splayed open is an easy state for anyone, I suspect it is harder for her.

I am doing an internship a couple of hours a week for the next 2 years to become a certified spiritual director.  It isn't hard work, but this first semester involves me sharing my story with the cohort.  I haven't been able to do it yet, and I confess preparation for sharing my journey leaves me with a desperate fear of being known in the wrong ways.  There is also so much to say and so little that I can say here on the internet.  It makes posting feel like a facade and I don't ever feel right about that. (if you see me in person feel free to ask!)

I don't know if I am more sensitive than most.  My lens on this part of myself was destroyed by someone long ago.  Strangely what wasn't destroyed was actual sensitivity, as such, the world is weighing heavy on me.
People fleeing their homes,
people murdered in their house of worship,
white men with guns thinking they are Gods,
children being sent back to class after a friend is shot at school,
transgender folks being erased and forced back into identies that make them ill (and without medicine they will die)
all while floating in a cloud of racism, and homophobia, ableism, patriarchy and all the other isms that I can't recall in this moment of posting.  I spend much of the morning nearly shaking from anxiety at the state of the world and calling some friends I knew would be able to accompany me.

Then I voted.
I fucking voted.
If you are a woman or a person of color I probably voted for you.
If your name is weird I probably voted for you.

I don't know if it matters, except it matters.

Then  I saw someone on a facebook community page was complaining about EBT (foodstamps) not coming in yet and being concerned about groceries and I thought- I don't know this person but what the hell.  So I delived grocieries to an abandoned house that she gave the address to and left them on the porch.

Someone will find the food.
Someone will eat it, because all of us have a right to food.
All. Of. Us.

And then in the midst of all the anxiety, and the cloud of fear, the cloud of rain and pain and lament, and uselessness I can't help but let the trees be prophetic.  Let them sing out their beauty to me.  Let them say, "BEAUTY MATTERS!" and that the gift they have to give right now is to be unabashedly beautiful.  My responsibility is to say, "I see you."

And as soon as I see their beauty, I see that my kids are also beautiful.
And my Sean.
And the smell of decomposing leaf matter in the wind that rushed through the hallway earlier today when the kids came inside.
And the recognizable creak of the school bus stopping
and all of it: the unhidden beauty.

Its there, sitting right next to my aching heart (your aching heart?).