Tag Archives: feelings

Big…

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I remember being a little girl driving home at night with my Dad. Everything was black except for the long stream of Los Angeles highway running bright with headlights in one direction and bright with taillights in the other direction, the only demarcation of the rolling hills being the offset lines of red and white. Into this meditative silence my Dad said, “God knows all these people. He loves every single one of them.”

I had a similar moment this morning as I rode the bus to work. There were so many different people, so many different types of attractiveness, so many different ages. I was thinking about my morning as a parent getting dizzy vacillating between the emotions of only three small humans. But God is a Father to all these people. And I found myself wondering at how it must feel to wake up with the emotions of billions. How do you wake some up with singing and others to the worst day of their lives? How do you take joy in giving a tired mother her morning cup of coffee while dealing with the despair of a beloved son waking up on Van Ness in the aftermath of addiction?

God was suddenly that big again, bigger than the California-one bus line, bigger than San Francisco, bigger even than the infinitesimal system of Los Angeles freeways. He’s that big.

Ruby Bridges Part 1…

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The other day my son came home from school and told me they read The Story of Ruby Bridges.

“Who was the president guy again?” he asked.

Now, I am notoriously horrible with presidents. Really bad, so I was like, “Well, let’s look it up.”

Seconds later I’m reading the story of Ruby Bridges on Wikipedia.

And then, I start bawling like a baby.

It had been an emotional day and I just totally lost it.

And it felt fantastic!

“Why are you reading it in that strange voice?” my son asks.

I continue reading in half choked sobs.

“Mom, stop it,” he pushes me a little.

I stop reading and just cry a little.

“Mom!” he shakes my shoulders.

“Let me cry!” I say, “It’s terrible and beautiful. I’m sad and I’m gonna cry.”

It was releasing. In a little part, for just a moment, I felt the beauty of humanity’s best and the sadness of our worst. I hadn’t cried in so long it felt fantastic!

I tried recounting my experience to my husband.

“I’m sorry you had such a bad afternoon,” he says.

I blinked. Bad? The whole crying thing was the highlight of my day.

And then I remembered my son’s response.

So, in short, I’m glad I’m a woman.