Hi DF, I was introduced to your beautiful essay through Karen, who shared an excerpt that immediately resonated with me—and I wanted to take a moment to share with you directly as well.
This line pierced me: “the promise... of presence and love, no matter the state of the individual receiving that love.” It echoes something I’ve been carrying in my own journey and writing. Your reflection on seeing the presence of Christ in those once judged or dismissed—simply for their theology, or lack thereof—is such a necessary confession. It reminds me of the kind of resurrection love we’re all called to embody: one that shows up with presence, not critique.
In a recent piece I shared on my Substack, I wrote: “I share my poem now not because I have emerged triumphant, but because I am still learning to fold my grave clothes and lay them down—one sorrow, one burden, one memory at a time.” Like you, I’m exploring how Christ meets us—and teaches us to meet others—especially those carrying invisible wounds.
If you’re open to it, I’d be honored to share that reflection with you—it’s called Grave Clothes, and I think it speaks to many of the same themes you’ve expressed so beautifully here.
Thank you for this tender and honest offering. It’s such a gift this Easter season.
Mariana, thank you for your kind words and your encouragement. The last 10 years have, for me, been a near constant examination of how Christ meets us. I am convinced He does meet us, no matter where we are or how doubtful our faith has become. He is present in our worst and most difficult moments, not to make them disappear, but to remind us of his love and care, even as His “people” flail about trying to prove His existence.
Hi DF, I was introduced to your beautiful essay through Karen, who shared an excerpt that immediately resonated with me—and I wanted to take a moment to share with you directly as well.
This line pierced me: “the promise... of presence and love, no matter the state of the individual receiving that love.” It echoes something I’ve been carrying in my own journey and writing. Your reflection on seeing the presence of Christ in those once judged or dismissed—simply for their theology, or lack thereof—is such a necessary confession. It reminds me of the kind of resurrection love we’re all called to embody: one that shows up with presence, not critique.
In a recent piece I shared on my Substack, I wrote: “I share my poem now not because I have emerged triumphant, but because I am still learning to fold my grave clothes and lay them down—one sorrow, one burden, one memory at a time.” Like you, I’m exploring how Christ meets us—and teaches us to meet others—especially those carrying invisible wounds.
If you’re open to it, I’d be honored to share that reflection with you—it’s called Grave Clothes, and I think it speaks to many of the same themes you’ve expressed so beautifully here.
Thank you for this tender and honest offering. It’s such a gift this Easter season.
Mariana, thank you for your kind words and your encouragement. The last 10 years have, for me, been a near constant examination of how Christ meets us. I am convinced He does meet us, no matter where we are or how doubtful our faith has become. He is present in our worst and most difficult moments, not to make them disappear, but to remind us of his love and care, even as His “people” flail about trying to prove His existence.
Amen 🤲