Thank you for letting me stand here next to you

From D.W.: Four days ago the United States House of Representatives, against all the recommendations and evidence to the contrary, decided that transgendered children were better left to their own devices than receiving the kindness and care from physicians that can actually improve and, in many cases, save their lives by passing legislation that, if it clears the Senate, would make it a felony for healthcare providers to give such care.

A day later the Department of Health and Human Services announced that it would be pulling all federal funding, including funds for Medicare and Medicaid, from any hospital that provides any gender affirming treatment to minors. At all. Ever.

The rationale behind this? Vibes? Religious dominionism? Cruelty? All those things? At its core, there are a disturbingly large group of very vocal people with power in this country who do not believe that trans people should exist, and it is therefore their mission to exterminate them because it makes them feel icky. And that's weird and sick and cruel and damnit it makes me angry.

As usual, Rachel was more rational that I am about such things. Her anger always led her to seek love as a balm.

Fecebook. October 8th. 2019

Rainbow Fam: I see you. I love you. I am voting for you, voting with you. I am praying for you and praying for love. One of the lessons you have taught me over and over, that you have reinforced and formed in me over and over again is this: Love Wins.

Where you go, I go. There is no length I will not go to keep you safe, to keep your personhood enshrined in law, to make sure that your one wild and precious life is as safe and open and accessible as everyone else's. You matter. Every bit of you matters. There is nothing about you that isn't worth loving, worth fighting for. I will go with you, I will go for you, I will defend your name and your rights and your place at the table.

I'm sorry for all the ways I have failed you, before I knew better and when I did know better and was too scared. I wish I had done better. But I can and am doing better now. Thank you for letting me stand here next to you. I love you so much.

Facebook. November 11th. 2022.

On hard days, we have to reach deep and be militant about seeking joy. Rainbow fam: I see you and I love you. I am so sorry. You matter—your peace and your joy and your love and presence and lives matter.

My heart and home will always be safe places for you to come and stay. And while you’re here, you can also put shirts on my dog.

It doesn’t really fix anything, but it sparks a tiny smidge of happy…joy’s first cousin…you and all God’s beloved deserve at least that.

Facebook. March 27th. 2020.

Beloved,
Big breath.

It’s ok. Let me say it for all of us: this is not normal. Trying to keep things normal right now is a fool’s errand, even though that’s exactly what we are being asked or compelled to do. It’s ok to say no to that. To resist being complicit in the kind of denial that is putting our emotional and spiritual and psychological health in jeopardy may even be a holy act, right now—prophetic, even.

It’s ok to take a hard pass at wasting any amount of time in anything other than doing and being about the business of love. It is absolutely necessary that you put your own oxygen mask on first. And then take a deep breath and let the adrenaline crest. Take a mother deep breath, look around and become aware of what is happening right now in your body and in the part of the world you are working in or living through. Once you have accessed the scene and are breathing and seeing clearly, do what you can with what you have for as long as you can. Then rest. Then take some more breaths and take a look around and get back to it. And if you can’t, just keep breathing. It’s ok. It is ok if all you do is keep breathing right now.

Keep the main things main—water, food, shelter, relationships. Anything else, especially right now, is gravy.

We are grieving a lot right now. Grief is hard to carry, and it comes in waves. Every person is feeling it, whether they are willing to or able to come to terms with even a smidge of it. Grief is mitigated when we carry each other, call each other, reach out and get real and sit with each other in the mess, when we meet our brothers Job and James and learn to love the ashes, when Jesus calls our name in the midst of dark and tear filled gardens.

It is ok to cry. It is ok to grieve. It is ok to not be ok. This is not normal and you don’t have to pretend otherwise. It’s ok. I promise, it is ok. We gotta let go, grab hands, and be brave enough to cry it out and get angry and bargain and deny and be depressed and accept it and lather, rinse, repeat. It will take a while to get out of this fog. In the meantime, drink some water, eat something that is not going to make you feel like garbage, take ten deep breaths, and do only what you can. Love will come along and make it enough. I promise.

This is not normal. This is not ok. But we are not stuck like this—you, me, the world—we are not stuck in this endless tornado of suck. Nothing, not even this can last forever...except for love. That lasts. And it is with and between us now, and is waiting for us on the other side. Love wins. As unbelievable and far off as that may feel right now, it’s the truest true I know. Hang in there, my darlings.

You are beautiful

and you matter

and your love,

even when you are head engineer

on the Hot Mess Express to Bonkersville,

is changing this weird, broken, and strange world every. single. minute.

You hear me?

All you have to do is sit right there and be you. And you are the best you I have ever seen in all my living life. Big breaths, my loves. Big breaths.

Love,
Rachie

Facebook. September 20th. 2016

For Love’s Sake

My heart is heavy. We need some love in this world--love that is out loud, that stands up and shows up and makes us do better, be better. We are in real trouble, my darlings. I know most of you may feel like you don't know the right thing to do, or to say, or what your place is in all of the ruin at our feet, at our doorsteps, on our screens, at our kitchen tables, in our beds, in public office, in bank vaults, in the deepest places in our carved out and hollowed hearts. At least, that is how I feel when I see it. I do not have any easy answers. I can only tell you the most important answer, the real answer, and it is the only answer that ever matters to any question.

When we don't know what to do, we ask what we should be doing or saying or trying differently. And the answer always boils down to love. When we do not know what else to do, we must love. When things do not make sense or feel dark and scary, we must love. Even if the only thing we can love is the thought of not being scared, of feeling warm sun, of a word spoken in comfort and consolation. Even if we don't pray or don't know how to pray, even if we do and are struggling to find the words. Even if. Even if all those things are true, we must answer the question of what we are to do with love.

And love is relentless, like water on a rock. Love like that rolls down the mountain in a mighty stream that looks like justice. That kind of love sets us upon rocks that are higher than where we are now, languishing in the valley. Relentless love makes a way out of no way. It demands with such passion and kindness and vulnerability that we are compelled to be swept away by it--to refuse to calculate whether or not there will be enough and to simply share until all are filled. Love like that calms a storm with a word, stills a room with a breath, and lights tongues on fire to speak peace into a world that is in sore need of it.

Love is the only thing that will save us. It is the only thing that ever has. We must cling to it now, and we must love like our lives depend on it, because they do. No if's, no and's, no but's, no justifications, no situational ethics. None of it. It will not hold. That does not work. We see that it's not working every single day on the television, in the headlines, in our newsfeed. Love isn't about winning. It isn't about power or stuff or bills or who is a cheater or a liar or a total b-hole or even who is in the wrong. Love isn't interested in that. Love is interested in finding the ache and healing it--not just bandaging and saying sweet things. Love is work. And it is messy, and we have to be hip-deep in some mess we will not enjoy digging through. But we must. We must do this. We must find a way to love. We must find the thing we can hook ourselves onto and and into and around and love with every bit of ourselves.

I am tired of seeing innocent black men shot down in the streets. I am sick of it. No one in their honest bones can justify this. This is happening. It is intolerable. I have no idea what to do about it other than to say that black lives matter. The lives of my friends matter. The lives of the sons and daughters of my friends, and brothers, and uncles, and fathers and cousins matter. The lives of my young cousins matter. Black lives matter, and every time I say or think of that phrase, I think of my friends. And my heart breaks.

I am tired of cancer eating people I love. I am tired of heroin and alcohol and speed eating people I love and the city I live in. I am tired of the First Nations not having control of their own land and having to fight tooth and nail for clean air and water and just a little tiny bit of dignity. I am tired of babies dying. I hurt for my friends who are hurting, who worry about sending their kids out to football games or down to the store for milk because they might get shot for being black or in the wrong neighborhood or harassed because they are female.

Love is the only thing that will give me rest. Love is the only thing that will ever set any of us free.

Oh my darlings, be quick to love.

Lord, have mercy.

Love,

rachie