Give Me The Death I Deserve

And there comes a time when we are born out of our dormant state into being. Unfolding our petals to reveal a sacred gift - a life fully lived; fully realized as our own. There will be moments of death and grief; moments of joy and love - all of them a story worth sharing. As I hold onto the words of Women Who Run With The Wolves as dear, I reflect on the poetic offering of “give me the death I deserve,” to mean give me the hope I need through the death of things that which are not useful. 

Last year during year one of seminary I was angry & coping still with a traumatic event that still washes the shoreline, as trauma does...I was angry at the Church for taking from me from my place and people. I was angry at having to retell that story so much to cohort members & faculty. I was angry to the point of clinging to my death narrative as the only option. There is no resurrection in a death narrative. And, still, as my tattoo from year one reads, “I’m still here.” Why, though! Perhaps that was my anger’s center point of grief. When we strip queer people of place and connection, we burden the souls of their calls - whether it be ministry or not. So answering the why was muddy. So here we are releasing the death narrative and resurrecting the truth birthed - I am beloved. I am called. 

I am allowing the death I deserve to live the life I am seeking & asked to walk. And I’m giving myself grace through it all. I’m six weeks into my second year of seminary and here is what I believe: I am called to be a pastor for the people, for the Church and for my queer community & so it will be as it will be.  

To my chosen family, I love you all deeply. You help me continue to become