I have struggled with this exercise and have tried writing several times and now I’m on attempt number…

With the onslaught of horrific stories I kept wondering “Is this one ‘bad enough’? Does it upset me enough?” Then I realized something in me had become numb. My emotional reactions had peaked with the AI-generated Trump Gaza video. I started to write about that… about the computer generated images of Trump with dancing girls throwing money in the air (on land which is the grave of tens of thousands), and compared it to the emotional and psychological cruelty of the Nazis. Then I realized how loaded that comparison was and how easily it could be misinterpreted. 

Then I began to feel frustration…with myself, with the exercise. I had thought it would come easy to me, I loved the idea of it. There were several stories that got me riled up and I tried again, but each time it felt like I was trying to impress by writing a meaningful entry… which ultimately is a sign that I don’t feel beloved, but trying to prove that I am worthy of love.

And then I remembered Osheta’s story at the beginning of Dear White Peacemakers which really touched me, where she confronted the Coach who had called her son the N-word. When I read that story, and her inner journey in the midst of it, it confirmed that I was in the right place. “I want to deepen that in myself.…” I started to think that maybe that’s what this exercise is supposed to be about. I had gotten frustrated with myself and my struggle with the exercise, but today I realized that it is about the struggle. I am in this cohort to struggle with this seemingly unattainable desire to look at what’s happening around me and be able to say “I am beloved. You are beloved. We are beloved”, not just in a blog post, but in my heart and in my body, and hopefully begin to live it too.

So today I found myself listening to a press conference from the White House. The Press Secretary, Karoline Leavitt, used phrases like “these are heinous monsters” among others. Last night the president posted that Biden had not actually signed the pardons for the Select Committee that investigated Trump…that the members of the committee were now subject to investigation at the highest level. One of the journalists at the press conference asked Ms. Leavitt about this. I never would have chosen this as my news item to practice on, but as she spoke I felt my heart start to pound a little and tighten. “Ok, you’re not numb now,” I thought “Let’s try the exercise again!” I listened as she bent the truth by responding “The president was begging the question ‘Did the Biden even know about these pardons, was his legal signature used without his consent or knowledge?” I went back and looked at Trump’s Truth Social Post directly where he writes “The ‘Pardons’ that Sleepy Joe Biden gave the Unselect Committee of Political Thugs, and many others, are hereby declared VOID, VACANT, AND OF NO FURTHER FORCE OR EFFECT, because of the fact that they were done by Autopen.” He wasn’t begging any question. What was she talking about? 

As I put my hand to my heart and said “I am beloved” I began to realize that the stakes weren’t high enough yet. What if I imagined that I was going to meet with Karoline Leavitt in an hour to talk all of this over with her? Wow. That did it. Now my heart was pounding. Now I could hear my thoughts rushing to think of what I would say, trying to prove her wrong. It was feeling suddenly very personal. I recognized all my defense mechanisms getting ready for battle. Can I imagine that I’m going to talk with her and still sink fully into knowing that I am beloved?…that nothing she can do or say can threaten me truly? She would probably grant me 30 seconds, snap back at me and turn to the next person as she does in her press conferences. I think of Osheta’s example of the ink on the hands. What would the equivalent be for Karoline Leavitt?

“You are beloved, Karoline Leavitt” Of course I don’t know her and she doesn’t know me, so this is all abstract. What if I imagined I had known her a while back… in kindergarten? Playing in the sandbox together? Right away I can see her destroying my sandcastle with a big smile (the same smirk that got to me in her press conference), only this time she’s just a little child and it all seems a little silly. I can see us throwing sand at each other. I can see our teacher – Jesus – coming in and taking both of our hands and laughing. “We are beloved”. He holds both of our hands gently and smiles at us. This is very hard. I’m really having trouble going there. 

Maybe I need to go back to “I am beloved”? Maybe I don’t really believe it – I don’t actually love this defensive, attacking reaction in myself. I don’t love feeling vulnerable and powerless when I think of confronting her or the feeling that she somehow has power over me, over us. “Lord, love me like this. Love me in my incapacity to love myself. Love me even with my own inner violent, imperfect reactions. Love me in my arrogance that says I am better and more lovable than she is. Love me in my wanting to bring her down and make her see the harm she’s doing. Is that your way Lord? No. Show me your way, Lord.”  I feel like a failure at being a beloved and seeing her as a beloved. How long would I have to sit trying to say “I am beloved” before being able to meet with her? Suddenly I get quiet. A space opens briefly, like a window. I don’t know if I feel that I am beloved, or can imagine that she is beloved, but there is a brief calm and a spaciousness inside and my heart is beating slower. I’m no longer completely stuck. Jesus is sitting there in the sandbox now as we both look down and sulk, looking away from each other. It makes me smile.