SeaHeart

This is the week of potluck suppers. On Monday night, it was our first Unitarian Universalist potluck, tonight it's the monthly Gay Potluck (capitalized!).

Gathering around the table, rubbing elbows and passing dishes with people who make you laugh and feel completely safe and important and needed...I really can't think of anything better in the world. Your opinion is valued, the conversations are witty and passionate and filled with compassion, and--at the end of the day, driving home with your wife's hand clasped gently in your own--you're filled with such a deep sense of belonging, that you can feel the heartbeat of the universe in your bones.

It doesn't matter what was served--though you can tell the depth of their care by their asking what sort of food we vegetarians prefer, and making certain there's plenty of exactly what you mentioned there. It doesn't matter if you show up late or early. There will be people there, warm lights shining in a cobblestone house or out of stained glass windows in an ancient church that sits, comfortable and cozy and waiting to welcome you.

I don't know how we lived without this church, or the people in it in our lives. B makes our days bright--I love him so much it makes my heart hurt, sometimes. He's the epitome of goodness and kindness, the absolute consummate fairy godfather. I wish I could frame these little moments in my heart and keep them forever--I hope I can. He cares about us so much, and just knowing that he and his love exists makes the world beautiful.

L, the pastor's wife, is my saint. She's so passionate, she sets the world on fire--she's so radical and strong and courageous that--single handedly--she could make the planet turn back on its axis if she wanted. I have never seen a woman so dedicated to ideals and so adverse to just sitting there and waxing philosophic about them. She changes shit. I've told her, over and over again, what an inspiration she is to me as a gay rights activist and lesbian author, and she always turns it around and says that I'm inspiring, and then I'm like YOU ARE CHANGING THE WORLD, CRAZY LADY, I AM JUST WRITING BOOKS, and we always end the conversations with hugs and me in tears and this overflowing feeling of disbelief in my heart that I ever existed without knowing her. She challenges me, every single day, to be a stronger person, to do and be and create more, to change the world every second, not just occasionally. I am so endlessly inspired by her presence in my life.

Tonight, we're going to the Gay Potluck, and I've looked forward to it so incredibly much since the last one. There, we are surrounded by people who have been through...everything. And still manage to have such incredible dignity, such grace and compassion. I don't understand how they do it, sometimes, and I am continuously challenged by them to be even better. If they've been through so much, and still maintain their lives with beauty and compassion, surely I can try to do the same. Again, they care about Jenn and I so much, and I am just so vastly humbled and grateful for that. We'll pass around plates of decadence (and Jenn's cupcakes that Bill asked, so excitedly, for her to make <3), and we'll talk about the state of the world and each other's gardens and hearts, and speak of politics and books and gay kids and recipes, and at the end of the night, we'll leave the little cobblestone house filled with the satisfaction that there is a place for us in the world. There will be so much love in our hearts, they'll feel full to bursting, and we'll begin the looking-forward-to-ness again for next month, and another dinner with our gay family.

Because that's what these circles are--families. Created families. The warmth and compassion and kindness and love that fills those walls and words and gestures sustain us in the times when we're apart, knowing that there is a place for us--that we belong without any doubt.

Being an openly lesbian woman is not easy. Some days, it's fine. Some days, it's a fucking nightmare. No matter what, surrounded by our church or gay families, I can hold Jenn's hand, drape my arm about her shoulder, talk with hardly concealed glee and love about how much I adore her, and it's met with love and cheer and joy and an "of course." I don't have to explain it or fight for it there and I am treated no differently for it. Which...I can't even explain how that feels, to be treated not differently. Gods.

It's...sublime. Perfect.

I have three created families. You here...you're one of them. And I miss you terribly. I get to see you perhaps a few times a year, and the times in between are sad and despondent for me, because of how much I miss you.

But now, in the in between times, my feelings of belonging, of love, don't need to wilt away to nothingness. They are nurtured by the two new families that we began in June, here.

I am so grateful, so humbled, so deeply content that I have this--a spiritual family, a gay family, to share my days with, to feel when all the world is against me that there is some small, blessed portion that is not.

When the dark comes sooner, when the days grow colder, when the world turns to winter...my heart is filled and warm.