Tell me that you love me

Tell me that you love me

and that you will love the people I love.

Those are the words I need to hear.

Better yet,

show me that love,

because I cannot feel it right now.

Prove to me that my fear is misguided.

Let your compassion melt it away.

Hold tenderly my heart

for it is breaking

and I have not seen enough tenderness these days

to trust my heart to anyone.

Tell me that my despair will be yours

even as you taste your joy.

Promise me that you will see my face,

that it will not be forgotten or overlooked,

along with the faces of so many incredible beings.

Sit with me when I cry.

You don’t have to say a word.

In fact, maybe just put a hand on my back,

and offer me the sacrament that is your tears gathering at the sight of my tears falling,

a call and response liturgy of grief.

What will you do if my gay friend is fired?

Or my latina sister is deported?

Or if my best friend hemorrhages and is unable to access the healthcare she needs to survive?

Tell me, my friend, that it’s not too late.

That divisions can be overcome.

That fear can melt into an opening,

a kindness or empathy, and perhaps even, love.

And share with me, won’t you please,

about your own fear, your own despair,

your own sense of loss and grief,

let me see your tears and tell me about who you love.

This would be quite brave of us, I suspect.

Is this what it means to be human?

To know the ways we are flawed and the ways we are remarkable.

To be willing to go where Love is asking us to go.

Our humanity is dependent on you and me. Here. In the mess. In the middle. In all the meeting places we can find.

I am not yet ok,

But I hope we all will be.

And you could make it more so,

if only you would.

And I could make it more so,

so I promise to try my best.

Show me that you love me

and that you will love the people I love.

And I promise to show you, too.