Who knows why our bodies are the way they are, fleshy and fit, broken and breaking out, male and female and the spectrum between? Who understands the indomitable nature of our souls? Creation unfurls immeasurable variety, and all of it can be transparent to this unexpected, revising love.
I thought of her over the long weekend without me, pouring all her energy into this paper representation of our family; I imagined her bent over the dining room table, making her passionate “I love you—I love you—I love you” into little flat people she could give hair-dos and tenderly clothe, and I saw finally how we’d each in our own ways been praying all weekend, placing our hearts into this vast, connected, and holy family.
I want to be opened up and marked today. Changed. Colored. I want to be these maple branches against a blue sky for Gwyn when I greet her at school. I want to be so rich in pigment that it seeps into these words and paints your mind. Today I worship a God named Beauty, or, if you prefer, I love how beauty is a source of life. And I love how beauty, like God, can sustain us even when it’s gone.