Inviting in (love) again Part 2

Recently I have felt the invitation to invite in (romantic) love again. When I last invited it in in April 2022, a Filipino pirate musician version of my soulmate showed up in May. Falling in love with him, then navigating the subsequent grief of losing him, has been one of the hardest things I have ever faced in my life.

B was a person I truly felt like I could talk to forever; he was the man I thought I was going to have kids with. Losing him during our favorite time of year drug up questions in my faith which I had never been forced to ask before him. Experiencing soulmate love, then being forced to navigate the loss of that person's physical presence for no other reason than some asshole decided to drink and drive, prioritizing indulgent drinking and his own selfish desire to then get behind the wheel over the lives other people... Taking the life of the person I loved, the person who loved me...I don't always have words which speak to the depth of that experience.

Needless to say, navigating this has been a process. Three grief support groups and over three and a half years later, I have fought my way back to pockets of joy. I have taken steps into the realm of dating (even entering into two brief relationships). And yet...there are parts of my heart which still yearn for the man I love and lost. There are still nights where the grief is so palpable, I pull his jacket from the place it hangs in my closet and wrap it around me to remind myself of the pure love I felt in our embrace, to offer comfort to my body, reeling from his physical loss.

It's been nearly four years, and autumn is still challenging, because it holds embodied memories of falling in love; when the weather in Northern California gets so beautiful in its warm afternoons and crisp mornings, clear skies and redwood trees; when the days begin to shorten and all I want to do is stay in and snuggle with my person...it wrings me out.

Grief is more than just emotionally challenging, though. It is spiritually disorienting.I was raised with the belief that a good father is both a provider and a protector. It has been easier to swallow the goodness of the other two persons of the Trinity...to believe that the Holy Spirit is life, creativity, and fire; that the Son has eyes which flame with the fires of kindness. It has been much more difficult to embrace an understanding of God as a good Father, when my human heart cannot fathom how an injustice of this nature is to be reconciled with One who is inherently all powerful and all good. Surrendering a love of this magnitude demands a wrestle with one's spirituality.

I am learning that moving forward doesn't mean leaving behind, and it doesn't mean forgetting. Rather, it's more akin to carrying forward. Carrying forward the things that drew B and I closer together: our love for food, for laughter, for people, for compassion, for showing up in real time and action for the people entrusted into our lives and care.

Navigating grief has forced me to realize that we are the hands and feet of God to those who are facing pain in this world. Walking through the season of being the poor, the desolate, and the needy myself has prepared me to minister to people navigating those realities as well, as I run a Benevolence program at a nondenominational church in SF's Mission. Inviting others into leadership with me, and welcoming their passion and creativity, strengthens our team's ability to meet the needs of others. I see how offering a widow friendship, and sharing stories and pictures, brightens her day. I see how driving (or even flying!) out to be with a family member to celebrate their double digit birthday makes their weekend even more special. I see how our "yeses" to lean into the work of serving one another increases the health of the whole body. Over time, I have applied the pain of this grief into bringing even more good to those around me, just as B would have done. Just as he did.

Life after loss, especially such an intimate loss, is not one I am in control of. I continue to learn how to lean into joy again, but what I am finding is that there are those moments, of sensing God's diving provision and goodness, even amidst the grief waves. Which, at times, continue to roll in.

But I want to do more than ride the grief waves. I want to wade out into that beyond waist-deep territory and invite in true love and joy again, too. I want to experience again what it is like to be held and understood and appreciated. I want anew that reciprocal love which gives and receives, serves and magnifies the other.

I have unconsciously adopted a mindset that if I am going to get the pain, then I want to get the purpose. But even more than that. If I am going to get the pain, I want to get the joy. I want to experience the whole of this life. If the worst pain is a part of my process, I want the highest happiness too. I want it all.