On living through the process...

“Maybe I’m doing too much.”

The same thought comes to mind far too often for my liking. With a passion for justice, an idealistic mindset, and an unkempt curiosity that frolics about endlessly, I feel like I’m always teeming with plans, ideas, resolutions. I often wonder what will happen when I finally burst. The more morbid portion of my imagination offers that the remnants of me will result in a type of Rorschach image. Some will come upon it and say it’s beautiful. Others will see something terrible, a warning of sorts, not to follow in my footsteps. I don’t think I care either way honestly, just so long as what is seen is actually me and not a curated, retouched version of the truth. As long as that’s the case, I say, let the pieces fall where they will…

These past two months have been both painful and amazing. The kind of pain that comes from building muscle or flexing and stretching atrophied tendons. Loving people and pursuing justice is not for the faint of heart. There are many waiting in the rafters to demonize both your actions and intentions. Their reasoning is their own, but when they wear the faces of people you once loved with a tender vulnerability, I can’t say it doesn’t add to the pain a bit.

I’m not vaguely calling out anyone with my pondering. That’s not me. I’m just considering how this choice to radically love people and embrace mystery can be both liberating and isolating, and how it has been the source of both the beginning and end of relationships for me. I am free to bear witness to the beauty of those around me, and savor the moments of resonance as I also allow others to bear witness to me. In making room for others, I find room being made for me. At the same time, the group-think that I used to hide inside to make me look acceptable and similar to those surrounding me, is something I’m no longer practiced in. My body no longer knows how to carry the weight of what feels like misfitting armor. I don’t know how to contort my parts or my soul. It makes some too uncomfortable to stand near, or be associated with the strangeness.

All of this to say, the journey continues, the questions cycle and repeat. But each season, the answer unearths a new treasure not seen before. Reality takes on the beauty that once only belonged to hope, and my imagination finds new ways and paths to dream and dance on. It spurs me on and also beckons me to pause in wonder at this something new that is breaking through. This something that is both mine to hold and mine to share. My dish to offer at the feast where I gather in community with kindred hearts. It makes me wonder that this feast may be part of the treasure Jesus says a man found in a field and sold all he had to obtain. Maybe I’m not doing too much. Maybe I am simply succumbing to the natural way of things. If so, I’m ok with that.