Tamára Out Loud

I’m already in my school bus seat when you get on board, so you’re headed right toward me, but I would’ve noticed you anyway. I can always tell my kind.

I’m across the aisle from my daughter. She wanted me to chaperone for the theater but not actually sit with her—that honor is reserved for her newest best friend. They’re the girls who talk nonstop but never once to you, and I bet you think I’m in the club, but don’t let my cute shoes fool you. The only difference between you and me is that I’ve had 22 more years to learn to dress a part.

***

Please join me at A Deeper Story for the full post!

I’ve shared a bit of my mind and a lot of my heart at my friend Rachel Held Evans’ blog today as part of a roundtable discussion on what the American evangelical support of Phil Robertson in the wake of his derogatory remarks meant to LGBTQ and black people.

I hope you’ll read, think, and join in the conversation.

Oh my gosh, you guys, the holidays. I feel like we need to take attendance. Did we all make it through?

So many of us were worried with finances and family. Can we afford to spend our money on these gifts and this food and the travel? Can we afford to spend our sanity and time with these people who drive us absolutely fucking nuts because they have ALL the wrong sociopolitical ideals but we share their damn genes and 20-30-40 years’ worth of life? Can we afford NOT to spend it?

So many of us were dreading the whole thing. Our friends’ happy-faced cards rubbing it in our faces. No family. No feast. Shut up with the whole thing. Sneak into church for a silent night, go home alone, silent night, wake up alone, silent, silent, silent.

In the end, or at the beginning– whichever way you take the early days of January– where are we? Did we all make it through?

Do we have just 41 cents in our accounts because we bought wine and brie for our in-laws who make us feel like family, and brand new bikes for our kids who really aren’t babies anymore, and did we taste good food and good fun? Are we knocked-out exhausted because we shared our late nights with the people we deeply, actually do love despite their absolute incapacity to vote correctly? Did we spend the holidays filled only with the lonely ache that’s coldest at December’s end, and return to work still alive, still ourselves– even, and maybe especially, when we’re alone– still moving forward into a new year?

Did we all make it through? Did we carry any small joy from the last year to the next? Are we breathing on January 6th?

Grace is everywhere. It doesn’t get buried under too many gifts and it doesn’t expire when our hopes do. We’re all here in some form, and we made it through somehow, and last year and this year and every moment is grace.

Happy New Year, friends.