hope

I feel Hope.

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Last month, I spent cold nights laying in the darkness of my room and Spirit, contemplating death. I found myself empathizing with Job, who cried, “let the day of my birth be erased” (Job 3:3). 

And up until this moment, I’d never understood suicide. Even as- or maybe, especially as- someone who had to Baker act their loved one, I still thought it to be a deeply cruel decision. And yet, it was also one I began contemplating. 

I truly- and I can’t stress this enough- did not think I could keep living life feeling the way I felt. And the thought of doing so -of living- filled my body with so much weight, it paralyzed me. 

When the Weight traveled to my legs, I’d go without movement. When the Weight traveled to my belly, I’d go without food. When the Weight traveled to my head, I’d go without sleep. When the Weight traveled to my throat, I’d go without speaking. When the Weight traveled to my chest, I’d go without community.

It’s like being underneath water, with open eyes watching the world above me. Everything is warped. Time is strange. I can see, but not really. Hear, but not really. Touch, but not really. I’m there, but not really.

I could be distracted enough in cuddles with babies, or laughter with friends, or sudden rays of sunshine. But the encompassing numbness was unshakeable. It followed me everywhere, infusing itself in all moments.  

But today,

Oh, friends. But today,

There is a celebration. There is a jubilee. Because I am still here. Because the pain did not overtake me. And if you’re reading this, then you also are still here. For the pain did not overtake you either.

I feel Hope rising in my bones. How weightless she is! And when the Weightlessness travels to my legs, I’ll dance. When the Weightlessness travels to my belly, I’ll indulge. When the Weightlessness travels to my throat, I’ll sing. When the Weightlessness travels to my chest, I’ll commune.

And if Hope hasn’t made her way to you yet- if She’s still on her way, and you’re still in darkness, and there is still much more waiting to do, then it is my prayer that you have Grace. 

And if Hope has made her way to you- if She’s arrived, and you’re basking in light, and there is still much more rejoicing to do, then it is my prayer that you be Grace.

May we be Grace. May we forgive our weary friends for canceled plans. May we congratulate them for an unmissed meal. May we call them on their sleepless nights. May we sit with them in silence. May we welcome them with open arms when they return from isolation.

May we be Grace. What is anything, if not for this. 

This is my prayer for us, 

Masalam.