Lindy has been in charge of the church signboard at All Saints Episcopal this week.

Never underestimate the power of God in a well-placed pun, my friends—this one lured us in to our first Ash Wednesday service. Thank you to my mom for sponsoring this outing by stepping in as a literal last minute companion and smoothie maker for Levi and Kiri.

—

I have long been interested in thin places — those moments ‘where the distance between heaven and earth collapses’. Thin places seem to require an alchemy of intention and attention in order to happen. 

There was intention and attention on Wednesday, but it was the moment in the homily when Mother Kelli said “gender” that the thin place opened and I began to cry and cry.

The Lenten journey she described has been my experience of the last eight months. I have done all those things. I have been to all those places. I have learned all those lessons and it has changed me. I am different. To have all of that living inside of me, largely unseen and unshareable—to have all that suddenly, excruciatingly reflected, articulated, affirmed, and blessed as a spiritual journey that I did not go on alone, but in the company of generations…well…I have no words. 

In fact, I have no memory of words at all past the word ‘gender’. I kept thinking, dimly, “I want to remember this” and I keep thinking I should go back and listen again to the video recording and jot down the words that sliced me open. But maybe I’ll just leave it. As someone who exists in words and through words, maybe I’ll grant myself the peace to let it exist beyond words.

But if indeed, I have been on a protracted Lenten journey, I am not to Resurrection Sunday yet. I have wept, and grieved, and changed, but I have not yet entered into a new life. I’m definitely in a liminal space, neither here nor there. Not the same any longer, reaching back to my roots to find a way forward. 

I am at one with the Disney princesses, one moment wondering when will my reflection show who I am inside, and the next I don’t know if I’m elated or gassy, because for the first time in forever there’ll be music, there’ll be light, and I’m finally getting to use my 32 dinner plates, so open up the gates!

I could hope for myself a Lenten journey that ends in new, more abundant life. I could. And I could hope that for you, too.

Get full access to homing at homing.substack.com/subscribe